


pull me closer and tell me lies.

by cheshireanwriter



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, Lots of drama, even i don't know who mina is, nayeon's a mess, sana's a protective fluffball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshireanwriter/pseuds/cheshireanwriter
Summary: Nayeon's just a famous model who's tired of the industry. Mina's a mystery who comes along and changes everything.
Relationships: Chou Tzuyu/Son Chaeyoung, Hirai Momo/Yoo Jeongyeon, Im Nayeon/Myoui Mina, Kim Dahyun/Minatozaki Sana
Comments: 44
Kudos: 281





	1. Seduction

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on AFF as cosmicstars.
> 
> If you've read the other version of this story there will be changes and differences to this one with the characterizations as well as the plot.
> 
> Link: https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1273051

It’s not seduction that lines her limbs.

Nayeon knows all too well what seduction looks like, exposed skin to entice the eyes of the prey and lies spun in gold, smooth and flawless, created for one purpose and one purpose only, to get her into their bed so they could have their way with her.

She’s played victim to it one too many times, falling for the false pretenses of forever and sinking deeper and deeper into the spider’s web that kept her entangled and immobile until the predator made its descent.

And all for her body, for her curves and lines, the desire to run hands over them and let fingers play where no one else's could, to showcase her as if she were a life-sized trophy and not bothering to discover what lay beneath the thin layer of skin that they prized so much.

But that naivete is no more, and her skin isn’t for anyone’s fingers to touch but her own; iron walls guard a once tender heart, and shoulders, once soft and relaxed, bear a stiffness to them that support the curse of beauty and media popularity.

So, she doesn’t understand this woman who looks every bit the goddess described in Greek mythology with silky black hair and paper pale skin, standing in front of her in the middle of a busy supermarket.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Her voice is as smooth as the surface of a lake on a sunny day, every syllable accounted for and backed with a husky undertone that, if Nayeon hadn’t been so taken aback, would have sent shivers down the length of her spine.

This most certainly isn’t the first time she’s been asked for her hand, the more notable ones being in public spaces with prying eyes and murmurs that managed to slip into her ears and spin like a merry-go-round.

However, she’s never been asked out in the seafood aisle of the supermarket she often frequents, holding a plastic bag full of salmon clutched in one hand and a packet of ramen in the other.

The woman doesn’t seem flirtatious, nor does she seem to recognize her, her eyes, large and dark, are almost emotionless, and her posture resembles that of a soldier’s, though it carries a light elegance that says otherwise.

“Excuse me?” she finally ventures to say, willing her voice to remain steady.

There’s no flash of impatience nor one of embarrassment, and the woman calmly repeats her question: “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Normally, Nayeon would have brushed the person off and gone on her merry way, the encounter already lost in her mind, flushed away by her anticipation for dinner, but this woman is quite clearly not just another person.

The women she encounters are usually on the extreme sides of the spectrum, either extremely shy or vividly seductive, but never like the woman in front of her now, intriguing and deeply mysterious.

When the silence between them stretches on for another round of seconds, the woman is the first to act, slim fingers unlatching the buckle of her satchel and deftly extracting an artist’s pen and notebook (she knows because art is her hobby), jotting down what Nayeon’s sure is her number and ripping out the small section of the page and extending it towards her.

“Please give me a call if you make up your mind. I have somewhere to be, so I’ll be going now.”

Then, the woman is turning around and making her way towards the exit, leaving behind only the scent of vanilla and the piece of paper in Nayeon’s hand, as if she’d been nothing but an apparition of Nayeon’s imagination.

That night, Nayeon adds a new contact to her phone:  _ Aphrodite. _

~

It doesn’t take long for Sana to notice her lingering fingers and long glances towards her phone as they wait for their turn for the photoshoots.

“Who’re you waiting for, Princess?”

Sana’s words are teasing and her eyes are mischievous, long limbs crossed delicately over one another and a smile playing at her lips, ever the predator for an unwilling victim in her games of conversation.

“No one.”

“Oh, nice name. Is she hot?”

“Minatozaki Sana,” Nayeon growls between her teeth, glaring at the younger woman.

She only laughs, loud bursts of noise that doesn’t match her fierce and feminine image as Sana, top model of Star Agency, but fits right in with the Minatozaki Sana, Nayeon’s childhood friend, a rebel at heart with evil schemes to match those of Satan himself.

Nayeon had been stowed into the modeling industry by pure luck, having accompanied Sana for one of her auditions only as a pillar of support and nothing more, believing her lacking height enough for her to be easily looked over as a potential model.

However, she had caught the eye of one of the judges, made to take a short walk down the set runway with a spotlight against her and watchful eyes throughout all her awkwardness; being only seventeen then and yet to become comfortable within her own skin.

Miraculously, both she and Sana had managed to make the cut, and Minatozaki Sana had become  _ The  _ Sana, and Im Nayeon had become  _ The  _ Nayeon.

The industry had changed them, sprinkled attention and popularity over every inch of their identities, rising higher than any other in their age range like a plane that couldn’t stop ascending, and soon their faces and bodies had been plastered over every billboard and on sides of every bus that roamed the streets of Korea.

“Sana, standby please!”

Sana uncrosses her legs with the grace of someone who knows their body and what it’s capable of, elegantly standing from her seat and outstretching a hand towards Nayeon, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

“Well, wish me luck, Princess,” she chirps as if she couldn’t be more excited, though Nayeon knows that it’s far from the truth.

She takes the proffered hand, a sigh threading its way from between her lips, scanning Sana’s outfit—a crop top and shorts (similar to her own) that reveal too much for anyone to be comfortable with, and clasps their hands together, fingers curling into the crevices of the other’s fingers, an odd kind of handshake that they’d created years and years ago as a silent pact of everlasting friendship in the cruel world of celebrities.

There’s a moment when Sana squeezes, the pressure brief and barely there, almost hesitant, but not quite, and Nayeon knows what it means,  _ we can do this _ , and she squeezes back and then lets go, watching Sana pick up her media persona, the mask settling with familiarity over her features, and then, she’s strutting towards the flashing cameras and studio lights.

Nayeon eventually picks up her phone. The case, intricately designed and overpriced, sliding into her hand, her thumb swiping to unlock the device and settle her eyes on the contact that had been running through her mind ever since she’d received it.

Her thumb hovers over the messaging icon, her teeth worrying her bottom lip (a habit she has yet to rid of and the bane of her makeup artists’ existences) until she manages to gather enough courage to tap against the screen and stare blankly at the keyboard that slides up, fully functional and awaiting her use of it.

Nayeon’s never been terrible with words, especially when she’s using them as weapons to fend off persistent men or when she’s poking at Sana, but they always fail her when it matters the most.

Even as a child, when it came down to having to express her feelings, words had only escaped in incoherent mumbles and short fragments that tripped and stumbled over her tongue, never coming out the way she wanted them to.

Writing didn’t seem to help, either, the words just as stubborn as formulating onto paper as they were on her lips, and Nayeon had determined then that feelings simply weren’t for her, quite unlike how they seemed to be meant for Sana, sentences and monologues dancing and flowing with envied ease from the younger woman’s lips, every feeling she ever had conveyed as if written out by Shakespeare himself.

It takes the call of one of the staff members for Nayeon to finally come up with something to type, and it’s an answer that resembles her personality to the tee, throwing it aside when she’s finished pressing send and standing to take Sana’s place in the limelight.

_ Yes. _

~

It’s half past three in the morning when she stumbles into her apartment.

The timing isn’t unusual, quite the opposite, if anything, and although fatigue weighs heavy on her eyelids and her body cries for rest, she’s jerked fully awake by the buzzing of her cell phone, loud in the lonely quiet of her apartment too large for one.

She picks up, expecting the voice of either Sana or her manager, it not being rare for him to fill her in about the next day’s schedules or Sana to complain about one thing or another.

“Hello?” she says, slipping out of her shoes and onto the cool marble of her floor.

“Oh.”

Nayeon nearly drops her phone in surprise, pulling it away from her and staring at the name displayed blatantly across the screen in taunting black letters, the smooth voice (although it had been only one syllable) still ringing in her ears.

_ Aphrodite. _

She somehow manages to return the device to her ear, the combination of cool glass and metal pressing against her skin to remind her that there’s no reason why her face should be as hot as it is now.

“I’m sorry. I seem to have pressed the wrong button,” the voice says, somehow still managing to sound smooth despite the surprise that etches into her tone.

“It’s okay,” Nayeon manages to say, praising the fact that her own voice doesn’t tremble at the edges like it tends to do.

“Were you not sleeping?”

“I could ask the same for you.”

A chuckle rasps against her ear, both husky and light so they create a pleasant harmony for the listener and Nayeon finds herself melting in the melody, even as it dies down.

“So, is the answer still a yes?”

There’s an uncertainty that flits along with the otherwise steady voice, not enough to be categorized as shy, but enough to be noted, and Nayeon finds it almost endearing to hear.

“Yes.”

There’s a soft sound that she recognizes to be a breath of relief before the voice begins again. “When is a good time for you?”

Nayeon realizes that she’s been standing in the middle of the hallway for a good two minutes now, the marble floor having stolen the heat from her bare feet over the course of that time, and she makes her way towards the sofa instead, plopping down onto it and curling up against one side.

“I think I’ll be free on Friday night,” she says, playing with the fabric of her sweater, glad to be in clothes she’s comfortable with, “And I never got your name.”

There’s a brief silence and Nayeon almost checks to see if the call is still connected, but the voice returns, and albeit a little hesitant, there’s still an answer. “It’s Mina. Myoui Mina.” Nayeon can’t help but think that the name suits the face that belongs to it. “What’s yours?”

She freezes momentarily and contemplates for a few seconds, various scenarios running through her head, and she settles on one. “I’ll tell you on Friday.”

There’s a pause colored in surprise, but it’s quickly replaced by another chuckle. “Fair enough. I’ll see you Friday night, then. Does seven-thirty work for you?”

Nayeon feels a smile curl at the corners of her lips, the fingers of her free hand stroking against the soft cotton of her sweater, and she knows she shouldn’t be smiling.

She’s not a naive little girl anymore, but there’s something about this woman—Mina—that makes her want to forget about walls made of iron and thorny defenses that Sana helped in propping up for her own safety.

“Definitely. I’ll meet you then.”

“That’s great.” A brief pause. Then, “Goodnight.”

_ God, her voice. _ Nayeon wants to record it and have it play as her ringtone stuck on repeat.

“Good night,” she chokes out, hoping that it’s not too obvious, her odd infatuation with the woman’s voice.

The call clicks to an end and Nayeon sits in the dark for a long while, dreaming of snowy skin and eyes of midnight.

~

Nayeon doesn’t meet Mina on a Friday.

She’s walking down a street that’s as familiar as her route home, the more artistically aesthetic part of the city that houses street art from the largest of murals to the smallest of doodles sloppily drawn beside grander paintings.

Aspiring musicians line the street, filling the air with sweet voices and the strum of guitars, singing their hearts out for those who are willing to listen as small children run by and adults linger to watch.

Nayeon loves to visit during evenings, when the sun makes its descent and warm yellow lights that outline jutting rooftops and crisscross in a mesh above passersby heads blink into existence, glowing brightly to replace the shine of the sun.

She’s wearing a black cap and mask, an olive green bomber jacket draped over her white t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. She’s glad she’s not as tall as Sana because short people don’t attract attention and no one really knows how small Nayeon really is, eyes lingering just a few seconds over her face then jumping away as they decide that,  _ no, it can’t be her, she’s taller than that _ , and takes steps away from her.

That’s only the majority, though, and Nayeon eventually gets recognized by one person or another, asked for her picture and a signature on the most random places, some that Nayeon never wants to dirty her mind with again.

The photoshoot that had been scheduled today had come to an end much more quickly than anyone had anticipated, and Nayeon had decidedly taken a taxi to this particular street to unwind and allow the ambiance to heal her.

It’s about halfway down the street when she spots the easel propped up in front of a restaurant that she visits occasionally, the dark wood matching its background, and a stool placed just behind it, awaiting its owner.

In all the times she’s been here, she’s never seen that easel, and although newcomers aren’t rare, it still strikes a curiosity in her; and like moth to a flame, Nayeon finds herself drifting towards it with vague interest.

Before she can take another step, there’s a rough hand seizing her wrist and yanking her backward, her feet stumbling for solid footing, and she’s suddenly facing a man’s broad chest, the scent of cologne pungent to her nose and fear spiking in her veins like wildfire.

“You’re Nayeon, aren’t you? The model?”

His voice is deep and it rumbles in his chest like an animal’s growl, and by the look of him (muscled shoulders and exceeding height), he very well could be one, dangerous, and eager for blood.

This wouldn’t be the first time Nayeon’s had to fend off an overeager fan, or a creep like the man in front of her, but it still sends her heart racing and her palms sweating, especially when his hand is crushing her wrist like a doll’s and his eyes scan her like she’s food.

“Let go, or I’ll scream,” she says, false confidence lining her words, masking the fear that she can’t allow to reign free.

“Don’t be like that,” he purrs, “I just want a picture and an autograph, maybe a good fuck. Besides, I can just shut you up.”

His vulgar words send tremors down Nayeon’s limbs, his grip only getting tighter as he pulls her closer, and Nayeon knows that there’ll be bruises blooming purple and blue on her skin when he lets go— _ if  _ he lets go—and she suddenly wants to cry.

“Now, do you just wanna come quietly with me and have a good time, or do you want to do this the hard way?” he growls, his free hand traveling down the curve of her lower back and lower still.

Nayeon’s on the edge of a breakdown when she’s suddenly being released and tugged in the opposite direction by her waist, her attacker howling in pain and falling to the ground like a tree cut down as a familiar man stands over him, roaring in his bloodied face.

It’s the owner of the restaurant they’re in front of, and despite his enormous frame that stands at an intimidating height of six-foot-four, he’s a naturally good-natured man who offers Nayeon discounts and free snacks when she visits.

The man who had been holding her captive is big, too, but Mr. Choi is far larger and far angrier, easily heaving him up by the front of his shirt and dragging him towards the end of the street where Nayeon is certain cops lay in wait.

The sweet scent of vanilla wafts into her senses and Nayeon only then realizes that the body pressed against her back and the arms around her waist is undoubtedly feminine, the pale skin of soft arms vaguely familiar, and the woman’s identity is confirmed when lips brush against her ear.

“I was expecting to meet you tomorrow, but I suppose this works, too.”


	2. Identity

Mina shields her from the cameras.

People have gathered around them by the time Nayeon’s managed to grasp a weak hold on her receding sanity, phones beginning to creep out of pockets and slip into eager fingers, and lights flashing to capture the moments of her vulnerability—no doubt to be posted on social media later on for the viewing of millions.

Before she can lose the last remaining threads of her strength, there’s a hand with delicate fingers that comes up to drape over her eyes, its counterpart wrapping around her arm in a protective stance, and she feels a gentle tug towards the direction of the restaurant, guiding her to safety.

She hears the jingle of bells, signaling their entrance, and then the hand over her eyes drop away to allow her to see again, blinking at fluorescent lighting and adjusting to the brightness after sudden dark.

There are a few customers still perched in their seats, curious gazes aimed for her, but no phones, and before she can do anymore scanning, she’s being led to the back of the restaurant, Mina’s sure steps and gentle hands a reassurance.

They pause in the hallway that leads to the back door, Mina finally releasing her and turning to look at her instead.

“Are you hurt?”

There are no prying questions, only genuine worry that spills from between parted lips and emanates from pools of dark, dark chocolate.

Mina’s hair, a black that almost looks purple in the light, cascades down slim slopes of shoulders, a sleeveless white t-shirt replacing the button up she’d seen her in two days ago, and ripped black jeans. Her shoes stay the same, and they’re simple black converse sneakers, scuffed and a little dirty, but not unpresentable.

The black and white concept compliments the contrast between the darkness of her hair and the lightness of her skin, ruby red lips the only color that isn’t monochromatic—stark against everything else.

It’s Mina’s appearance that reminds Nayeon of the black mask that continues to shield the lower half of her face, and she rips it off, suddenly desperate for the air that she needs to calm the hammer-like beating of her heart.

“I’m fine. I’m okay,” she finally says, stowing away the mask into the pocket of her jeans. She’s not going to need it anytime soon, anyway.

Mina’s brows crease in the middle just a bit and Nayeon barely manages to make out the frown threatening its descent over otherwise serene features that don’t betray her like the slopes of her eyebrows do.

“Your arm, may I see it?”

Nayeon’s reminded of the ache she’d briefly forgotten, the pain returning in zaps and tingles that tell her that it’ll need icing and a good deal of concealer for her shoot tomorrow—if concealer will even do the job.

She tenderly removes her jacket, slipping her arms out of the sleeves and surrendering her injured limb to the woman once she meets her steady gaze, promising no harm, feeling a hand cradle her injury, the touch barely there as fingers ghost along the outlines of red fast approaching purple, gross imprints of the man’s fingers that stain nearly the whole length of her forearm.

It’s ugly, and Nayeon hates the fact that he’d managed to leave something of himself behind.

“Who was he?”

Her voice isn’t as steady as Nayeon’s become used to—there’s a hint of something there—but she can’t quite make out what it is.

“Crazy fan. It happens.”

Nayeon isn’t sure when an explanation like that had begun to taste normal on her tongue, as familiar as her favorite flavour of candy, when she knows that it shouldn’t have to be.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Mina says softly. 

It’s only then that Nayeon realizes that she hasn’t so much as offered her name to the woman who’d saved her life, and an almost robotic introduction spills out of her mouth before she can run it through her head.

“My name is Im Nayeon. I’m a model of Star Agency.” She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, anxiety building from the pit of her stomach. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I…” 

Mina’s expression is impassive, eyes remaining steady on the bruises distinct against her arm, her fingers still brushing lightly over them as if her skin is porcelain and the lesions are cracks in an otherwise flawless surface.

“I’m aware.”

Mina looks up then, heavy eyelashes curling upwards to unveil the mystifying pools of black underneath, unwavering when they meet Nayeon’s lighter ones—the color that’s fawned on by photographers who scramble to capture the golden flecks that dot her uniquely bright irises.

Despite that, she thinks Mina’s are far more beautiful—deep and captivating—seemingly shuttered even as they pierce straight through her and shifting through the pages of her soul as if it were an open book while leaving her entangled and defenseless within the darkness of her own.

“…you are?”

“Yes. I didn’t recognize you when I first approached you or even after that, for that matter, but the owner said your name when I went to get him and I realized who you were.” Mina suddenly looks sheepish. “I’ve always had terrible facial recognition skills.”

Nayeon’s already scrambling for the right words to express the extent of her gratitude, everything she comes up with sounding weak and lacking the sincerity she feels is there, desperate not to come off as just another shallow celebrity who puts themselves above everyone else.

She’s not sure why she feels this way when she’s only just met Mina.

Her eyes drop to the floor, unable to hold the woman’s intense gaze, and she gets a closer look at Mina’s shoes instead, realizing that what she’d initially thought was dirt are actually specks of paint of a myriad of colors.

The question spills from between her lips like water. “The easel outside. Is it yours?”

Mina nods, a light hum accompanying the movement, and it’s only then that Nayeon notices the flecks of yellow and orange dotting the inside of her right arm and the front of her t-shirt, wondering how she’d managed to miss them before.

“I was planning on just painting tonight, but clearly, the night had something else planned for me.”

Mina’s voice is gentle despite the teasing of her words, a small smile curling at the corners of red lips and a softness to her eyes.

“Thank you for saving me,” Nayeon blurts out, not unlike the way an impatient child would when told to be quiet.

Mina doesn’t miss a beat.

“Of course,” she says. A brief pause colored with hesitation settles before, “I’ve always wanted to save a damsel in distress.”

A booming voice, deep and resounding against wooden walls, makes Nayeon jolt in unmasked surprise, swiveling around to see Mr. Choi taking long strides down the hallway that seems much too small for his frame.

The man’s height stands at twice her own and his width is up to par, but his heart is larger than any of his physical attributes, evident through his kind eyes and the laugh lines around his mouth, deep crevices that soften around the edges that strike familiarity in Nayeon.

“Nayeon, are you alright? That bastard’s being taken up to the station right now. Did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay, Mr. Choi. Thank you, uhm, for helping me.”

Nayeon knows he’s used to her awkward demeanor when it comes to thanking him—usually for the free food and discounts—and she’s just glad that he understands her sincerity behind her seemingly curt words.

She allows that thought to soothe her frayed nerves, afraid that anything more will send her over the edge of the mental cliff she’s so precariously balanced on.

“Damn animals, I swear! I got a hit in, though. No less than he deserves,” he mutters, large hands brushing at invisible lint across the sleeves of his shirt that pull against bulging muscle, a grumble rumbling in his chest as if replaying the scene in his head. 

Then, his eyes flicker behind her, recognition coloring his gaze, and Nayeon knows he’s caught sight of Mina, a pleased smile replacing his frown. “Ah, the young lady! Thank you for getting me in time. I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if something happened to Nayeon in front of my restaurant out of all places.”

Nayeon feels a telling whisper of wind brush against her bare arms, the pleasantly sweet scent of vanilla wafting to greet her as warmth settles beside her, not too close to be uncomfortable for two apparent strangers, but not too far, either.

“Anyone would have done it.”

Nayeon can tell she means it in the way that pride doesn’t rear its head in the tune of her voice, the melody as even as she’s become accustomed to, and her overall demeanor politely reserved.

“Are you two hungry? You must be! I’ll have my specialties out for you on the house. Go on, go get a seat.”

Nayeon has no choice but to allow herself to be ushered out of the hallway and into the seat closest to the kitchen.

Mr. Choi gently pats down her shoulder, promising a quick and delicious dinner before bustling off as Mina takes the seat across from her.

She doesn’t miss the furtive glance thrown in the direction of the easel she knows is propped up and awaiting its owner, Mina’s paint-stained forearms and shirt an indication of her ownership, following the memory of a brown satchel.

“You didn’t bring your bag today?”

There’s a flash of realization that briefly hardens the woman’s features, and then Mina’s abruptly pushing out of her seat and all but running out the door, returning much too quickly for Nayeon to even begin to toy with the idea of the woman leaving her behind.

The bag is clasped in her hand as she makes a bee-line towards their table, and Nayeon thinks she can see a flustered pink hue tint snowy skin; although by the time Mina’s reclaiming her abandoned seat, there’s no trace of color and the woman looks as put together as before.

“Thank you for reminding me. I tend to be forgetful sometimes.”

There’s embarrassment weaving through the duality of grateful and apologetic, the words curiously formal, as if she were making a speech, or speaking to an authoritative figure. It’s something Nayeon’s noticed since they’d met.

“No problem.” She hesitates briefly, too, before murmuring, “Anything to save a damsel in distress.”

It takes her a moment to collect herself from the fiery burn of embarrassment she feels in her cheeks as soon as the words leave her mouth, but when she gathers enough courage to look up, she’s rewarded with a sparkle in Mina’s eyes and a giggle from her lips.

She can’t help but think that it sounds better when they’re face-to-face, not just voices over the phone, and she doesn’t bother to stop the flutter of a smile of her own, catching a momentary look of surprise in Mina’s expression that has her quickly rearranging her features back to mute, clearing her throat.

“Your smile is beautiful.”

The phrase isn’t foreign to her, but the way it’s said is. 

There’s no underlying meaning behind the words, a siren’s melody to the tune that Nayeon’s so accustomed to hearing from the male models she works with, who mistakes the fleeting touches and flirtatious gazes executed purely for the entertainment of the public to be an invitation to her bed.

Mina’s eyes don’t wander like theirs do, remaining firmly locked with her own and conveying nothing but sincerity. 

Nayeon feels an unexpected wave of shyness, breaking eye contact and fiddling with the hem of her shirt as a means of comfort from whatever it is that’s fluttering in her stomach and beating against her ribs like a drum.

“And here’s the specialty of the night!”

Interruption has never been more appreciated, and Nayeon’s hands move items around on the table, making room for the food of their own accord, busying herself with something far less confusing, when there’s a large hand taking a hold of her own, freezing her in her tracks.

“He did hurt you!” Mr. Choi booms, placing down the dish in his left hand and bending down to scrutinize the bruise that looks far worse under brighter fluorescent lights. “Tzuyu, get me an ice pack!” he calls out.

“Mr. Choi, it’s not as bad as it—”

“Don’t lie to me, Nayeon. I’ve seen my fair share of bruises. This isn’t one of the prettier ones.”

A girl weaves through the tables, an ice pack in hand, and Nayeon all but freezes at the sight of a person who could easily take her job from her—someone who clearly doesn’t belong in a restaurant but on the sleek cover of a Vogue magazine.

She barely registers it when the girl comes to a standstill beside Mr. Choi—the first girl that Nayeon’s ever seen that isn’t absolutely dwarfed by the man—and it’s a pleasant surprise when the girl simply glances at her and Mina, striking features almost completely expressionless, before she wordlessly hands Mr. Choi the ice pack, executes a polite bow in their direction, and returns to the kitchen without a single word.

Mr. Choi grins broadly at the astonishment that she’s sure is evident on her face. “Had to fire the last boy, Jaeyoung. Caught him with his slimy fingers in my register,” he says, anger flashing in his eyes. “Anyway, Tzuyu’s a model worker.”

Nayeon looks up at him, brow raised. “Or just a model.”

Mr. Choi laughs loudly, his voice echoing against the walls. “Can’t deny that. The amount of customers we get in here’s doubled since she started.” Then, he goes serious, glowering down at Nayeon like a territorial wolf. “Don’t you get any ideas of slipping her a business card. I’m watching you, Im.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Choi.” Nayeon says, a smile quirking at her lips.

She can’t help the hiss that makes it through her teeth when the ice pack touches her skin, the bruises pulsing in protest, and almost immediately regrets making a sound when Mr. Choi doesn’t bother to hide his cheeky smile.

“Keep that there, alright? I’m sure your friend won’t mind helping you out with the food.”

Nayeon sees Mina nod in agreement, and in no time, all the dishes are put into place in their designated spots on the table, and Mr. Choi’s returning to the kitchen again, bidding them a good meal.

There’s a momentary lapse of silence afterward, both she and Mina not moving a muscle as if they’re in some sort of silent stand-off, before the other woman finally picks up her spoon and tilts her head towards the table.

“I suppose we eat now?”

Nayeon couldn’t possibly agree more.

~

Sana calls near the end of dinner.

Nayeon has to excuse herself from the table, clasping the vibrating cell phone to her chest, and murmurs an apology to Mina before heading out the door.

She takes in a deep breath, then answers the call. There’s no use avoiding the inevitable, anyway.

“Where are you, Unnie?”

Nayeon knows she’s in trouble because Sana only calls her ‘unnie’ for a few specific occasions: when she wants something, when she’s done something wrong, or when Nayeon does something wrong—and Sana’s voice, too sickly sweet to be genuine, hints at the latter.

“I’m fine, Sana.”

Nayeon has to jerk the phone away from her ear in fear of losing her hearing as Sana screams, “Tell that to every single news outlet in Korea! Why aren’t you home?!”

“Mr. Choi took care of me, it’s okay.”

Sana’s frustrated growl is audible over the line and Nayeon can picture the younger woman raking back a mussed cloud of pink from her face.

“You’re lucky you don’t have a lot of scandals, Unnie. Manager oppa’s not too angry about it.” Sana’s sigh makes it through the phone. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Her voice is slightly calmer now, though still tense, and Nayeon knows she’s out of the danger zone that had been blaring red alarms in her mind since she’d received the call, worry dribbling into softer words.

“I just have a bruise. I’m okay.”

“Mentally?”

“I’m fine. I swear.”

“Are you still at the restaurant? Do you need me to pick you up?”

Nayeon’s thoughts flash to midnight eyes and paint-flecked shoes, her eyes darting to the easel standing just a few feet away, only to freeze in place, feet cemented to the ground.

There’s someone standing in front of it, someone that most definitely hadn’t been there before with a hood over their head, and Nayeon wonders if there’s such a thing as a painting-in-the-works thief.

“Princess,” Sana’s impatient voice says.

“What? Uhm, no, it’s okay. I can make it back just fine.”

There’s silence on the phone that Nayeon knows is nothing good. 

Sana’s teasing tone proves her right. “Oh, are you with someone?”

Nayeon knows that it would be futile to deny the truth, so she tells it how it is, murmuring a “yeah” as feet suddenly switch to autopilot and gravitate towards the stranger standing in front of Mina’s painting, completely unmoving.

“You don’t have friends,” Sana says, mischief dripping from every syllable that leaves her lips. “Who are you with?”

Nayeon allows the low jab (although truthful) to enter through one ear and flee out the other, far too used to Sana’s crass words to have them cut her like they do others.

“It’s technically a first date and I think she’s an artist. I have to go.”

“Wait, what? Are you serious? Who is—”

Nayeon ends the call before the question can be completed, pocketing the device in her jeans and offering a mental apology to the younger woman who is no doubt cursing her out in a colorful mix of Korean and Japanese.

There’s a nervous energy buzzing through her veins at the thought of confrontation with this stranger, but Nayeon isn’t willing to repay Mina’s kindness by turning a blind eye to someone possibly stealing or vandalizing her painting, so she finds steel somewhere in her stomach instead of the prickling needles of fear and taps the stranger’s shoulder.

The hood that had been shrouding the stranger in uncertain darkness falls away as they turn to face her, and it’s then that she realizes the stranger’s a girl—a girl who is noticeably shorter than her, definitely younger, and almost certainly not a thief.

“Sorry, is this yours?”

There’s something about the way that the girl speaks and holds herself that seems so relaxed that it almost feels contagious, and Nayeon feels any adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins fade as if water had washed it away.

“Uhm, no. It’s…my friend’s.”

The girl reaches up and runs fingers through dark waves of hair, tousling it more if anything else, though it suits her overall aesthetic—an oversized hoodie, jeans, and boots.

“Your friend’s talented. She knows her colors,” the girl says.

She offers Nayeon a semblance of a lazy smile, an indent of a dimple appearing on her right cheek as if greeting her, before she walks away, pushing through the restaurant door and into brighter lights.

Nayeon blinks as the door closes, dazed at the strange encounter, before she turns back to the painting balanced on the easel, a specimen put on display.

The girl’s right. It’s the colors that enamour her—the greys and yellows, the woody browns and the purples that border on black to represent the night sky, an unfinished piece that still manages to mystify, clearly the beginnings of a masterpiece.

It’s beautiful.

“Oh, I haven’t quite been able to complete that yet.”

Nayeon stumbles back a few steps, feeling like a child who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar before dinner, her heart fluttering a few beats, and her limbs uncertain as she makes room for the painting’s rightful owner.

There’s a gentle hand on her lower back that steadies her, Nayeon comparing it to the man’s far rougher manhandling from earlier—a stark difference despite the similar motions and placement.

Nayeon knows the memory should be triggering roots of fear and anxiety, consuming her whole, but strangely, all she feels is a sense of safety.

“Careful, I don’t think Mr. Choi has enough ice packs to cover you,” Mina says, offering up the one that she’d abandoned for a phone call.

It’s clear that the younger woman is adamant in keeping her comfortable, her considerate actions a means for evidence, and Nayeon—like a bad habit she just can’t break—can’t help but wonder why she’s treating her so kindly.

Trust isn’t a strong suit for her when it comes to people, but Mina’s already managed to build the foundation of it between them in the few hours she’s known her.

It makes her want to run.

“If you didn’t want it, you could have said so,” Mina says with a reassuring smile.

“No, that’s not—I was thinking about something, I—”

The curl of fingers ever so careful against the back of her hand and the cool chill of the ice pack against her forearm effectively stutters her lips to a pause, suddenly breathing in warm vanilla instead of the cool night air.

“I’m joking,” the woman says softly. “You must be tired. I can drive you home, it’s not a problem.”

Mina’s moving away, allowing her to breathe freely again, the canvas tucked under one arm as she folds the easel in a swift, practiced motion that Nayeon follows with her eyes—enamored at the seeming professionalism of it all.

She’s swiveling around before Nayeon has the chance to at least pretend like she hadn’t been staring, but there’s no smug smirk to cause a flush of shame to paint her cheeks, only a small smile and a nod towards the street ahead of them.

Nayeon’s only just met this woman, and she doesn’t know a single thing about her, but she does know that there’s something about the intensity of her eyes, the softness of her demeanor, and the mystery that shrouds it all that she can’t help but want to solve.

The scary part is—she doesn’t think she cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the confusion I caused when I first uploaded this story here. I didn't realize that readers from this fandom would recognize this story and I'm grateful for the people who let me know their concern. Thank you so much for the kudos and the comments! I really appreciate them, and it helps me to get motivated to write. Until next week!


	3. Red

She gets reprimanded for the second time that day.

Her manager speaks to her lowly and sternly about caring for herself and the dangers of the outside world (as if she isn’t well aware of those) before shooing her out of the car and to the salon with a weary sigh.

Sana already has her makeup done by the time she’s sitting down, their hairstylist unnie at work, applying finishing products, and touching up locks of fluffy pink.

Pink suits the younger woman to the tee, her personality—bright and bubbly and unpredictable, but at the same time, passionate and fiercely protective—embodies the symbolism of the vibrant color, and Nayeon can’t imagine ever finding someone who can equal Sana’s flames.

They suit each other solely because of their polar opposite identities, making up for one another’s flaws, filling up the holes in their personalities, hot and cold, so Sana doesn’t burn out and Nayeon doesn’t freeze.

“Manager oppa nag your ear off?” Sana says, her eyes remaining shut so long lashes flutter along her cheekbone.

“Not as much as usual.”

“I swear, he could beat a teenager’s mom in a nagging contest.”

When Nayeon glances towards her again, Sana’s staring at her with mischief in her eyes and teasing along her mouth, long fingers wiggling her phone back and forth, and she knows she’s in for trouble.

“So, first date, huh? Who was the lucky girl? You guys get to third base yet?”

Nayeon almost hits her, but Sana’s yelp of pain stops her in her tracks before she can lift a finger, leaning back into the chair satisfied when she realizes what has happened.

“Unnie! My hair!”

“Watch your mouth, Sana, and stop bullying Nayeon.”

The pretty hairstylist unnie sends a playful wink her way, and Nayeon can’t help but offer a smile of her own, hearing Sana grumble about unfair alliances and ‘ _ why does everyone hate me’ _ , rubbing the side of her head where her hair had been unceremoniously pulled.

“But seriously, how did it go?”

Nayeon thinks back to last night.

Mina had led the two of them to a car parked at the end of the street, a shiny vehicle that looked as new as if it had been bought straight off of the dealer—a black shell but pristine, white leather seats on the inside.

Nayeon remembers wondering if Mina’s obvious affiliation for the theme of black-and-white has some kind of backstory attached to it—a fairy tale that no one knows about. 

The woman had ushered her along into the passenger seat before she could venture off into the subject, while she opened up the trunk and slid in beside her at the wheel a few moments later, lacking the easel and canvas, but with the brown satchel still clasped in her hand.

During the ride home, Nayeon couldn’t help but scrutinize the bag resting so naturally on Mina’s lap. It looked like it had seen better days, a bit worn and off-color, although there were no tears on its surface, and surprisingly, no splotches of paint to be seen.

“My father gave it to me years ago as a graduation present in high school,” Mina had said without sparing a glance at her. “I carry it with me always, even if I do happen to leave it behind from time to time.”

Nayeon’s lips were stuck on mute, not knowing what to say when there was something in Mina’s voice that spoke of past pains and leftover wounds, still too tender to touch, and yet to heal.

“You remind me of him.” Nayeon remembers startling at the statement, head whipping around to gape openly at the woman. Mina had shook her head softly in reassurance. “Not in a weird sort of way. There’s a reason why you caught my eye. I saw the way you hold yourself like you wear armor that no one can penetrate. I could tell because my father was like that. But he was also a sweet, gentle person. It was just that he was afraid of the world.”

Then, the car was cruising to a stop, its engine dying down with the gentlest of hums, and Mina was turning to face her, eyes darker than the night sky pooling with something Nayeon didn’t want to begin to understand.

“I just want you to know that I understand you.”

And Mina had been right, about her being afraid, because she had run as soon as it registered that the car was at a full stop, flung open the door and stumbled in haste to escape the rattling in her chest, her armor stripped away and leaving her naked, too open, too vulnerable, and she couldn’t take it.

She hadn’t even thanked her before turning tail and sprinting away.

“I made a mistake.”

Nayeon lifts her hands to bury her face into the darkness of her palms, but they get pushed aside by the makeup artist who throws a warning look her way.

“Sana!” hairstylist unnie barks suddenly, making Nayeon jolt in her seat as if electrocuted.

There’s suddenly a hand circling her wrist, tugging her forward, Sana’s signature scent of expensive perfume that’s named something in French, draping around her like a blanket, and a head full of pink all she can see.

“Holy crap, Unnie! What the hell? You never told me about this!” Sana yells, her voice scraping at Nayeon’s eardrums like nails to a chalkboard.

The bruises are as bad (or maybe even worse) as yesterday night, the purple and black against otherwise pale skin clearly painting the imprint of a large hand around her forearm like a grotesque tattoo.

“I did,” Nayeon murmurs, shifting uncomfortably at the close proximity and attempting to loosen Sana’s oddly strong grip. “I told you I got a bruise.”

Sana looks mortified, the hand holding her wrist captive tugging upwards so Nayeon’s forearm is at eye level and put on a pedestal for everyone to gawk at.

“Yeah, but you made it sound like it was small, not like you almost had your entire arm torn off!”

Nayeon doesn’t know what else to do but shrug, turning to the stylist unnie who looks like her soul has left her body, eyes locked on Nayeon’s arm that’s trapped in Sana’s titan grip, and her makeup brush dangling in midair as if by magic.

Nayeon gestures to the bruise. “Can you cover this? Somehow?”

Three pairs of eyes burn holes into her skull, and Nayeon feels the need to do something, so she plucks at the hem of her t-shirt with her free hand as if to wake it up from slumber and protect her from the unwanted attention.

Stylist unnie finally speaks, her tone the sweetest Nayeon’s ever heard it to be. “Tell me, do I look like a magician to you, Nayeon?”

Nayeon feels like it’s a trick question, but she answers it anyway, uncertain. “…No?”

“Well, there’s your answer, then.”

~

Nayeon is in the arms of a man she’d only first laid eyes on two seconds ago.

The sweater dress she’s wearing barely makes it down to her mid-thigh, and it only continues to creep upward as if it has a life of its own, even when she yanks it down every chance she’s got. 

At least the sleeves drop over her hands and only end at the tips of her fingers so her bruises don’t have a chance to pose for the camera—or anyone else for that matter.

It doesn’t help that the man who holds her like he owns her is a sleazy looking guy who looks as if he’s already stripped her naked with his eyes, body pressed much too close for an innocent, winter clothing line photoshoot, and his hands lower than they should be.

He’s in a simple sweater and jeans that Nayeon knows has to be far more comfortable than her own outfit that covers bare minimum, and it makes Nayeon want to vomit when he looks down at her and smirks as if it’s supposed to make her swoon and kiss his feet.

“Alright! That’s perfect! Good work, you two!”

Nayeon moves to tear herself away from the man as fast as humanly possible, but she doesn’t get far, his hand at her waist dragging her back and pulling her closer to him, and his mouth lingering at her ear, whispering something about wanting to take her home and how unbelievably hot she looks.

She really doesn’t need this right now, she’s already burnt out from last night, and she knows she’s going to snap.

“Hands off, or I’ll call security,” she announces loudly, her voice steady and amplified.

All eyes swivel to scrutinize them and the man backs away as if threatened by the point of a gun, expression suddenly meek as he slinks away, hands pushed into pockets. 

Nayeon squares her shoulders, unwilling to look as defeated as she feels, expression carefully masked as she walks towards her dressing room, head high and steps confident as if she’s walking down a runway.

She’s tired. 

She’s been tired for a long, long time, but this is the first time she wonders if she has to be.

~

Nayeon nearly breaks her phone for the second time in the span of five days.

This time, Sana’s next to her, and she’s catching it before it can fall, flicking it back up with expert ease and glancing at the screen before she’s cackling like a hyena, doubling over in the middle of the lobby with Nayeon desperately dragging her into the elevator that slides open just in time.

“Aphrodite! Oh my god! You named her Aphrodite!” Sana screeches, leaning against the shiny metal wall for undeserved support.

“Stop laughing! What do I do?”

She holds the phone like it’s a bomb waiting to go off, the vibrations harsh against her already shaky fingers, and she thinks it’s a miracle she’s even able to support anything in them right now. 

Before she so much as realizes it’s being snatched away, the vibrations are put to a stop, abruptly feeling cold glass and metal press harshly against her ear.

“…Hello?”

It’s been three days since she’s heard that uniquely husky undertone to a light melody and Nayeon thinks that it’s completely possible that she’ll faint from the sheer uncertainty on its own, Sana prodding her side and mouthing incoherent words to her, although the suggestive wiggle of her brows tell her all she needs to know.

Nayeon has always been a coward, and predictably, she hasn’t been able to send so much as a text Mina’s way, chains of fear coiling around her fingers and rendering them immobile until she had to give up and make do with torturing herself with thoughts of a smooth voice and intense gaze.

“Uhm, hi,” she manages to say, her tongue tripping over syllables and voice trembling.

There’s a punishingly sharp jab between her ribs and Nayeon yelps in surprise, managing to get a hit in on the taller woman’s shoulder before her attention is being whisked away again by a concerned voice on the other end of the line.

“Nayeon? Are you alright?”

“What? Yes, I’m fine. It was just a fly,” she says, glaring at Sana.

Sana’s leaning back against the elevator’s railings, arms crossed and a Cheshire grin plastered on her face, and Nayeon thinks she’d like nothing better than to strangle her.

“Come on, Princess. You can do better than that,” she says lowly.

Nayeon throws her a dirty glare, but Sana only sticks out her tongue, completely unfazed by the strongest weapon in her arsenal.

“I was just wondering if you were okay. And I wanted to apologize for crossing the line that night, for making you uncomfortable.”

“No! I mean, you didn’t—I was just—I didn’t know what to say or do, and, uhm, I’m sorry for running away and not saying—for not thanking you, for the ride, I mean.”

Sana’s already laughing again, her cackles bouncing off the walls of the elevator and echoing until it’s smoothing to a stop and the doors are opening, the taller woman stumbling out, gasping for air, with Nayeon trailing behind her.

“Oh, no. It’s alright. I was worried I scared you away,” Mina’s voice becomes smaller now. “That…I wouldn’t be able to see you again. That’s not the case, is it?”

Nayeon’s quick to dissuade the uncharacteristically meek tone with jumpy sentences, uncomfortable with knowing that she’d managed to make someone like Mina so uncertain. “No. No, it’s not. I promise.”

There’s an outtake of air that Nayeon can clearly hear, and for some reason, it makes the corners of her lips twitch just the slightest bit upwards, though hopefully not enough for Sana to pick up on and tease her for.

“I would have contacted you earlier, but as I’m sure it’s obvious, I was afraid.”

Nayeon wonders how someone can sound so confident admitting to their fears, Mina’s voice as steady as she remembers it being the first time they’d met, the veil of mystery beginning to make its descent once again along with the steel wall of confidence.

Nayeon’s voice is quiet when she says, “You don’t have to be.”

She can hear the sound of breathing through the phone, and Nayeon isn't sure she can take much more of the silence—she’s already regretting the cheesy, film-worthy one liner that had escaped her lips—and she’s resisting the urge to end the conversation there and now out of sheer embarrassment. 

Despite all of that, she can’t bring herself to do that to Mina, so she waits.

“Thank you.”

Tension seeps out of her muscles and leaves her limp, but relieved, keeping her fingers closed tightly around the cell phone, suddenly unwilling to end the call just yet.

“I’m free tomorrow night,” Nayeon ventures to say, albeit shakily.

She ignores Sana’s obnoxious wolf whistle and vomit-inducing wink, turning so she doesn’t have to watch, and focusing on Mina’s voice instead.

“Then tomorrow it is. Shall I pick you up?”

The question brings blood rushing to her head, and she fails to hide the red tint in her cheeks from Sana who begins to laugh so hard she can’t make a noise, wheezing with her hand against her stomach and the other scrabbling at the wall.

Nayeon sincerely hopes she chokes.

Her response is timid, hoping the red in her face doesn’t seep through the phone. “Yes.”

“Not a problem. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Would six-thirty be okay?”

“Yeah, that should be fine.”

“Great. Well, have a good night,” Mina says, and Nayeon can hear her smile and it makes whatever it is doing flips in her stomach double its efforts.

“Good night,” she squeaks.

The call clicks to a close, and as soon as she’s lowering the phone from her ear, Sana’s dragging her down the hall and into her room, not allowing her time to process what had just happened, before she’s suddenly sitting on the edge of the girl’s bed with her disgustingly bright pink sheets under her.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Nayeon mutters, picking at the fabric of her sweater and avoiding eye contact.

“I have never and I mean  _ never _ heard you stutter that much in my life,” Sana says, plopping down beside her so that Nayeon bounces a little and she has to throw out a hand to steady herself.

“I stutter all the time.”

“No, you don’t. You just talk like a caveman, there’s a difference.”

Sana’s pulling Nayeon’s hand away from the threads of her sweater and rolling up her sleeves with a rare tenderness that has her relaxing, allowing the younger woman to reveal the bruise she’d been hiding away beneath cotton and wool for days.

It’s turned into a more subtle yellowish-green now, and it doesn’t look too much like the broad expanse of a man’s grip anymore, though it still hurts if she moves it the wrong way or accidentally presses too hard.

“You never told me exactly how you got this,” Sana says, her thumb brushing gently over her arm, her lips pursed. “You never tell me anything, actually.”

Sana sounds sad, almost, but Nayeon doesn’t understand why. All she knows is she doesn’t like it.

“I do tell you things,” she counters, although it sounds weak even to her ears. “I was walking, and this man grabbed me, and Mr. Choi and Mina saved me.”

Nayeon braces herself for another bout of teasing, Sana’s specialty that never seems to run out, but it never comes.

“…You must’ve been scared. Did you cry?”

Her response is automatic despite the spontaneity of the question, too used to the taller woman’s unpredictable ways to be taken aback. 

“No, of course not.”

She almost did cry, but Sana doesn’t need to know that.

Sana chuckles. “Sure you didn’t. You probably wailed like a baby.”

Nayeon frowns, shoving the taller woman with all of her strength, though Sana only laughs and barely moves an inch, raising a brow and mocking her for her lack of muscle power. 

“That’s not how you hit people, Princess.”

Before she can blink, Nayeon’s being knocked backward onto the mattress with hair tickling her face and Sana hovering over her, one hand planted next to her head, staring down at her like she’s about to devour her, and Nayeon moves to get up and retaliate, only for a hand to press against her chest, not enough to inflict pain, but enough to leave her as immobile as a rock.

“This is why you get hurt, Unnie. If I can do this to you, imagine what a guy could do. And they’re not half as nice as I am.”

Sana’s never exactly been the type to express her feelings in conventional ways, and Nayeon’s always been on the receiving end of her worry and concern. So, Nayeon’s experienced enough to translate the hidden messages behind her roughhousing:  _ be careful, don’t get hurt, take care of yourself. _

Nayeon responds the only way she knows how without becoming a so-called caveman, snapping her teeth at the cotton candy strands that dangle in her face and eliciting a squeal from the younger woman.

“Yeah, like you’re some kind of saint. Get off me, you’re heavy.”

There’s mutual understanding between them and Sana lets go of her and rolls away, sprawling on her back while Nayeon stands, scowling as she brushes down her clothes, freeing them of wrinkles.

She kicks the idiot’s dangling leg for good measure, only earning a giggle and not the sharp cry of pain she was hoping for.

“Bye, Princess.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Love you, too.”

~

Sana insists on meeting Mina.

They’re standing in the lobby five minutes earlier than they’d promised because Nayeon feels like her heart’s about to jump out of her throat and her palms are going to drown in a pool of her own sweat.

Sana keeps trying to throw an arm over her shoulders, “ _It’s my sworn duty to give her the talk, Princess”_ , and Nayeon has to dodge and slap her away with the taller woman gagging every time her wet palms land on her skin.

She’s torn between anxious and grateful for Sana’s presence. 

Sana’s not someone to be trifled with, especially when it comes to people who hold a place in her heart, and people make the grave mistake of believing her deceivingly bubbly charm to be a weakness rather than a weapon, and it's what ensures that, ultimately, Sana will always win. 

The pink-haired woman has the tendency to be extremely protective—and surprisingly a bit aggressive when it comes down to it—though Mina doesn’t seem the type to be intimidated by something like that.

When her phone buzzes, Nayeon knows that it’s Mina letting her know she’s here, and Sana gives her a knowing smirk, Nayeon well-aware of the gears running in the taller woman’s evil mind.

The rotating doors fashioned as an entrance to the apartment reveal a woman dressed in black and white, carrying a brown satchel, and pushing back silky black waves from a porcelain doll face.

Nayeon doesn’t realize she’s let out an audible gasp until Sana’s arm is circling around her shoulders, her lips next to her ear.

“Oh, wow. Well, she definitely passes the hot or not test. Are you sure she’s not a celebrity?”

The apartment they live in is on the higher end of the price spectrum, and many people tend to look out of place in the lavish building of white marble and gold lining, but Mina looks like she owns the entire estate.

She locks eyes with Mina a moment later, sees the black orbs pull away briefly to glance at Sana and the idiot’s arm around her shoulders, her expression faltering for a split second before she’s walking towards them, steps as confident as Nayeon knows them to be.

“Hello, Nayeon.”

Mina’s voice is warm, so warm that she feels like she’s melting, but Sana’s arm is suddenly looping around her neck as if she’s about to throw her into a headlock, and Nayeon’s busy tugging at the idiot’s limb in haste to stop her.

“Hi, my name’s Sana. Nice to meet you.”

“Myoui Mina. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

There’s tension in the air, so thick that she’s sure she can cut it with just the tip of her fingernail, but then it’s gone when Sana’s arm slides off from the slopes of her shoulders and the crevice of her neck, and Nayeon can breathe again—only to choke on air at Sana’s next words.

“So, before you take my princess to bed, I’m going to have to ask you a couple of questions, whether you’re Aphrodite or not. I’m sure you understand, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for all of the kudos and the comments! I really appreciate them and I hope you'll stick around for future updates. Until next time!


	4. River

They choose a table in the far corner of the coffee shop she and Sana frequent.

Being a Tuesday night, there aren’t many people, the few patrons being college students too preoccupied with the glaring screens of their laptops and the music blasting through their headphones to notice them, and Nayeon’s grateful.

What she’s not grateful for is their seating arrangement, Sana to her right and Mina sitting across from the pink-haired idiot, as if this was an interview and Mina the new employee, though Nayeon feels like the smallest of their group of three, even when it’s Mina the one being scrutinized, not her.

“How old are you?” Sana asks, kicking off the conversation.

Nayeon has to resist the urge to smack the woman upside the head for the rudeness that flows out of her mouth without a filter, glancing warily at Mina while her fingers begin twisting into the blouse she’d painstakingly picked out over the course of two hours.

“I’m twenty-three years old.”

“You do know we’re celebrities, right?” Sana inquires, nails tapping out a steady beat.

“Yes, I am aware.”

“Then is that why you want to be with Nayeon? For her fame? Or is it for her body?”

This time, Nayeon can’t bite back the sharp growl of Sana’s name, glaring witheringly at her, warning the woman of her shortening fuse.

“Of course not. I wasn’t aware of who she was at first. She simply caught my eye, and I decided to talk to her. I don’t care for fame or money. As for physical appearance,” Mina’s eyes flit towards her, not in the way others look at her, judgemental or hungry, but softly. “I would be lying if I said I could look over something like that with her.”

Nayeon feels a thread in her blouse snap at the harsh tug of her jolting limbs, Mina’s words, blunt in their meaning, but elegantly sewn together, igniting a flame in her blood that spreads like wildfire, shockingly aggressive and breathtaking.

“I-I’m going to—order. Be back.”

She’s moving to push back her chair, but something stops the furniture from shifting the way she wants it to, and she looks to see Sana’s arm, solid against the chair’s backing, keeping her from fleeing in the opposite direction. 

Of course Sana would see right through her, transparent as glass.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. No running away this time, Princess.”

Nayeon thinks she’d rather be swallowed by the ground and given a one-way ticket to hell than be where she is now, overwhelmed and embarrassed, in front of the first person she’s ever met who could trigger the kinds of reactions in her body that she’d never felt before.

They’re strange, never before experienced reactions that make her feel like she’s both soaring through the sky and anchored by her feet at the same time. It’s scary, but she’s not quite sure if she wants the feeling to go away.

“What’s your occupation? You know ours already, so…”

It’s the first time Nayeon’s seen Mina’s expression so closed off, heavy metal doors locked and bolted, because despite being mysterious, she’d always felt that the certain trait of the younger woman was just a part of her, and not something practiced and used consciously.

Not a moment later, the expression fades away and smooths into familiar tranquility, and it’s as if it was never there to begin with.

“I’m an artist. Not widely famous, but I earn enough.”

Sana’s elbow nudges itself between her ribs, and Nayeon doesn’t need to waste the effort of craning her neck to see what kind of expression she’s making, opting to shove her away instead and offer a glance in Mina’s direction.

Mina’s eyes dart to meet her’s, as if she could sense an extra pair of eyes on her, and Nayeon can’t seem to look away, only freed from the intense pull of her gaze when she hears the screech of a chair being pulled back.

Sana’s standing up, one hand outstretched and a grin that she recognizes as genuine painted across her face.

“Well, you pass my test, Minari. Can I call you that?” Mina nods graciously with a smile of her own and Sana beams back at her. “Take good care of Nayeon for me. She might seem quiet, but she gets into a lot of trouble.”

Mina accepts the display of camaraderie with a firm shake of their hands, the scene resembling that of a boyfriend and a father coming to an agreement with one another.

“I will. Is there a time I should get her home by?”

There’s a mischievous lilt in Mina’s voice that Nayeon almost doesn’t recognize, only used to hearing it in Sana’s bright, outspoken tone, and she feels like she should be offended (though she isn’t, because it’s Mina).

“Nah, keep her all night if you want to. Hit home run, too, while you’re at it. Nayeon isn’t as innocent as she looks,” the idiot says, sending a flying wink in her direction.

Before Nayeon can so much as move a muscle, Sana’s already striding out of the coffee shop doors, a slim hand raised in farewell, and leaving them behind to organize the chaos she’d left in her wake. 

Nayeon passes her hand over her face in a spectrum of emotions she can’t even begin to decipher, and peeks from minuscule gaps between slim fingers at her companion for the night.

The woman has her chin cupped in her palm, staring directly at her as if enamored, and Nayeon’s glad her hand’s in the way of Mina’s line of sight so it leaves pink hues unnoticed, waiting for the heat to simmer down before sliding fingers away.

“Hello there.”

Mina’s voice is teasing, but with no malicious intent behind it, still soft and continuously gentle, one of many traits Nayeon’s already come to appreciate in her unique character—-the lack of demons behind every word and action.

“Hi,” Nayeon finally manages to say, more of a sigh of despair than anything else.

Husky chuckles rasp against her ears, warm despite the fact that she’s laughing because of her, and they curl the corners of her lips upwards involuntarily.

“Is there anywhere in particular you would like to go?”

Nayeon realizes that she’d been so preoccupied with their second date to be concerned with what their schedule would be for the evening, her tongue stuck on pause, blankly staring with nothing to say.

Mina giggles, an adorable melody that Nayeon could listen to all day. “That’s alright, I had something in mind, if that’s okay with you.”

Nayeon nods like her life depends on it, coaxing soft laughter from Mina who motions to stand, throwing the strap of her satchel over her shoulder and across her chest, offering a hand to her with a bright smile.

Nayeon takes it hesitantly, noticing the difference in the size of both the length and width of their hands, hers being significantly larger (she’s always had long fingers, apparently a point of interest for netizens), but when she slides her fingers across the palm of Mina’s hand, she can’t help but marvel at how smooth her skin is.

“Shall we?”

She lets her lead the way to the door.

~

Nayeon’s curiosity gets the better of her.

It’s hard to ignore the monochrome theme of black and white that, despite the colors being as dull and average as colors get, is so glaringly obvious: the car, her outfit, even her physical traits.

So, she finds the question escaping through her teeth before it has the chance to process.

“Are your favorite colors black and white?”

Nayeon notices Mina’s hands on the steering wheel tighten, her knuckles drawing an unnatural white, and the brief twitch of her jaw that signals the clenching of teeth. 

“Something like that.”

Mina’s voice is strained, so unlike the steady tune she’s used to hearing from the woman, and Nayeon doesn’t know what else to do but nod.

The moon resembles a fingernail, thin and sharp enough to cut at the edges, the light that shines from it pale and washed out, but it’s Nayeon’s favorite kind of moon, when it’s just the sliver of its full form, teasing its true power.

They’re bypassing several large buildings, businesses led by the corrupt—needlessly extravagant and merely decorative—and Nayeon wonders where they’re going at this time of night. 

There aren’t many options considering it’s almost nine and the most original locations for a date would be closed or preparing to shut their doors.

Mina takes a left into a road that Nayeon’s never seen before and suddenly, they’re not cruising through the bustling city with too much noise and flashing lights, but bumping down a dirt path that has the sort of tranquility that matches Mina’s personality.

She’s awestruck by the unexpected scenery of nature, trees that are just beginning to lose their leaves of myriads of oranges, reds, and yellows, and grass that would look golden in sunlight, but shine a dull yellow beneath car headlights.

Nayeon feels like the whole situation should feel a bit creepy, riding in the car of someone she barely knows, going down a deserted path at night, completely unaware of where their destination lies, but she looks over at Mina, and the serene expression and drumming fingers along the steering wheel have nightmarish thoughts fleeing from the depths of her colorful imagination.

“We’re almost there. Not many people are aware of its existence, but I can promise that it’s a very beautiful place.”

Mina’s right hand falls away from the steering wheel to rest along the center console, the makeshift armrest supporting the length of her arm from her elbow to her wrist, leaving her hand dangling at the edge, and Nayeon can’t help but think it looks lonely.

She has the sudden urge to knit their fingers together, to reach out and make the first move between them for the first time and catch Mina by pleasant surprise for once.

She’s suddenly stuck wondering when the desire to touch the woman had been born, where exactly it had come from, because never, in her twenty-four years of life, had the idea of making the first move in a relationship crossed her mind.

She’s lost in concerning thoughts until the car’s rolling to a stop, the sound of gravel beneath tires snapping her out of her stupor as Mina expertly maneuvers the vehicle to line up with a gray minivan a few meters away.

Before Nayeon has the chance to so much as breathe, Mina’s unbuckling her seatbelt, letting it snap back into place, and stepping out of the car without a word. 

Her side of the door smoothly opens, Mina ducking to lean in towards her with a question written along the slopes of her features, and it’s all she can do not to look away.

“Coming?”

“Oh, right. Yeah of course.”

Her fingers do their own little dance against the buckle of her seatbelt, somehow managing to get it off so it doesn’t constrict the lines of her ribs, and she motions to leave the car, Mina stepping back to let her through before shutting the door with a soft thud.

“Wear this. It gets a bit chilly in this area. I wouldn’t want to get you sick.”

She only notices Mina’s newfound black trench coat then, and she can’t help but think that it looks a bit expensive for the average person’s salary (she would know, she works as a model after all), and a glance at the beige coat nestled between Mina’s fingers tells her that it’s in a similar price range.

She had noticed how lavish the car looked the first time she’d laid eyes on it, but she’d brushed it off as simply extra money spent for something that interested the younger woman, nothing more than that. She’s not so sure anymore.

Mina motions to drape the coat around her shoulders and she lets her, murmuring a quiet word of gratitude.

“Shall we go?”

There’s an arm being offered to her, an uncharacteristically nervous smile to go along with it, and Nayeon finds her fingers sliding into the crook of Mina’s elbow, seeking human warmth beneath the cool fabric that quickly warms to her touch.

They set off in the direction of the woods where she can just make out a small trail winding in between trees, a slight breeze rustling dry leaves that send a small flurry of reds and oranges fluttering to the ground before settling again.

Only the crackling of leaves weave through the tranquil silence, and Nayeon can’t help but focus on the warmth that radiates from Mina’s body, stepping marginally closer, almost subconsciously, but not quite.

“When the city becomes too much and I feel the need to get away, I drive here and stay for a while. You’re the first person outside of my family I’ve brought with me, now that I think about it,” Mina muses, her head tilted back to face hues of indigo.

“Where exactly is this place?”

“You’ll see. It’s just around that bend.”

It’s a river. 

There are yellow bulbs that resemble the ones that line her favorite street, bright enough to offer visibility, but not enough to blind and make her squint.

They’re tied to the trees at opposite ends, zigzagging over the river so the reflection of lights in rushing water seem to dance and play.

There aren’t many people, mostly elderly couples holding hands and walking along the bank, but even then, there are only three that she can see, and one middle-aged man sitting by his lonesome on a camping chair.

When she traces the cords keeping the lights shining bright, she notices a small shack on their side of the river hidden in the trees, clearly a power source, though made to look like a miniature cottage.

“Wow.”

When she finally manages to rip her gaze away from a storybook painting to check on Mina, she’s struck dumb by eyes darker than the expanse of obsidian above them, swirling with stars that Nayeon’s never seen before, and she’s helplessly caught in the weight of their gravity.

“You…really are beautiful.”

Mina sounds breathless, and with the marginal space between them, she can feel small puffs of warm air brush against her lips, almost like the caress of a lover’s hand, and she feels herself tipping over the precipice of a cliff dressed in black and white with hair as dark as shadows and skin as pale as moonlight.

It’s all she can do not to stagger, to strive for some grasp of control over the thumping of her heart tattooing itself across her chest, and the butterflies in her stomach that she’d thought to be long dead, all the while the voice in her head whispering its darkness into her ears.

_ Don’t fall for it. It’s a trick. Just like everyone else before. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard that line. You’re only going to get hurt again. You’ll only be thrown away when she’s done with you. It’s seduction. Sure, it’s a lot of effort for seduction, but you never know. _

“Would you like to walk?”

Nayeon’s abruptly reeled back into reality as Mina tugs gently forward so she falls naturally in step with her, the younger woman clearing her throat as if to expel remnants of stars Nayeon had read in pools of midnight.

It’s chillier than she’s used to, which makes sense considering the river beside them, and she’s grateful for the coat that hangs around her shoulders, providing surprising warmth despite the fact that she’s not fully wearing it.

“So, is it safe to assume that you like the place?”

Nayeon nods distractedly, eyes wandering to new details around the edges of tumbling water she’d failed to notice before. “How did you find this?”

“I just happened to stumble on it. I was driving around and I took the wrong turn.”

The lines of yellow bulbs stretch out as far as the eye can see, so the furthest lights look to belong to fireflies. It’s the most beautiful sight Nayeon’s ever laid eyes on, and it’s then that she comes to the complete realization that Mina clearly isn’t like anyone else she’s met before.

“It suits you.”

Mina glances at her, a perfectly drawn brow raised, and Nayeon looks away, unable to collect her thoughts when she’s so easily lost in everything that is Mina.

“This place, I mean. It suits you.”

“Does it? I suppose that’s why I’m so drawn to it.”

Nayeon nods, squinting slightly at a breeze that blows past them. “It’s quiet and unique and…mysterious.”

“Mysterious?” Mina turns to her, surprise an outline to her expression. “You think I’m mysterious?”

“You don’t?”

“Clearly, you haven’t met yourself.”

It takes Nayeon a moment to run the other woman’s words through her head, then another moment to bite back laughter at the mere idea that she— “Korea’s next top model” —could be anything in the proximity of mysterious when every piece of her personal life is scrawled out in colorful print across the city.

“The entire  _ nation _ has met me,” she says.

She hates that she sounds defeated—it makes her wonder when she’d become a casualty in this drawn-out war.

Mina shakes her head. “I highly doubt that the Nayeon on newspaper headlines and tabloids is the one standing here, right now. What the media has to say about you doesn’t matter to me. As far as I’m concerned, whatever you’ve told me since we’ve met—that’s all I know about you.”

The thin line that had once separated Im Nayeon and Star Entertainment’s Nayeon has long since bled away, so blurred that it’s unrecognizable, and even she’d forgotten what it was like to be separate from what was supposed to be work.

At some point, she’d become too tired to deny that it had become her identity.

No one had ever bothered to separate what should have been two different identities, had never bothered to unravel the golden ribbon and peel away the fancy wrapping paper to discover what lay inside because the packaging was just too pretty to rip away.

In the few days that she’s known Mina, the woman already has her fingers on the golden ribbon and eyes brimming with a steel-like confidence that tell her she has no thoughts about letting go.

It’s terrifying, but somewhere along the line it’s become clear that Nayeon has no thoughts about letting go, either.

So it’s confusing when Mina’s abruptly halting in her tracks and harshly yanking her sideways by her wrist, Nayeon yelping in surprise as she crashes heavily into the woman’s embrace and wondering how she hadn’t so much as stumbled even under the force of her pull and Nayeon’s weight.

“M-Mina?”

It’s only when she hears the distant, yet familiar shutter of a camera that Nayeon realizes what’s going on, and instinctively, she buries her face into the crevice of Mina’s neck, her fingers curling into the coat at Mina’s back, her body pressing close.

Seconds tick by and Nayeon gradually becomes aware of several things at once. 

The first is how close her lips are to brushing against Mina’s porcelain skin, the tip of her nose already pressing into her neck. 

The second are the hands soft around her waist, so light that she almost misses their touch, but feels the extra heat that gives them away. 

Lastly, it’s how much the situation reminds her of the one cliche scene of every drama she’s ever watched on television.

“They’re gone. I’m sorry, are you alright? I pulled you pretty hard.”

Mina’s pulling away carefully, like Nayeon would shatter under any excess force like dollar store china, and she steps back to allow space to grow between them—space that should’ve been there in the first place.

“I’m okay. I was just caught off guard. Thank you.”

Her thoughts and feelings tumble forward in bullet points of a beginning idea rather than polished paragraphs well thought out, and she knows it’s not enough, that she won’t understand, they never understand, but when she looks up into Mina’s eyes, she knows it’s okay.

_ And I just want you to know that I understand you. _

This time, there’s something different in the air between them, something crackling like electricity even when Mina’s eyes are promising tranquility, and Nayeon’s not sure who initiated what, or when they got close enough, but they’re suddenly kissing.

They’re kissing, and suddenly, nothing else matters.

~

Sana won’t let her sleep.

She remembers having jumped out of her skin when the pink-haired demon materialized out of thin air as she opened the door to her apartment, still reeling from the memory of soft lips and vanilla, thoughts that made no coherent sense running through her head.

“You have fun, Princess?”

She’d lashed out in terror, only to have her fist caught in fingers too strong for their own good, and her hand had dropped lifelessly like a rag doll's from spent energy.

Sana’s lounging on her couch now, feet propped up on the coffee table, the epitome of relaxation (she’d always had a knack for making anywhere her home), while she sits on the kitchen stool.

“We kissed.”

“What?!”

Sana’s at her side before she can blink, hands digging into her shoulders and attempting to shake an explanation out of her before she’s ready. Nayeon wonders if Sana’s ever considered being an athlete, what with her obvious strength and the speed she’d just witnessed.

“You’re giving me a headache,” she warns, trying to wriggle out of the girl’s titan grip in vain.

“What do you mean kissed? I mean, it’s not like you haven’t gone further than that before, but seriously? She kissed you? When I told her to hit a home run, I didn’t actually mean it. And by ‘we’ you mean you kissed back, right? I thought you were over that stuff. You didn’t slap her? Shove her?”

Nayeon frowns, shoving away Sana’s hands which come off surprisingly easy, and shoos her away so she’s not pinning her against the kitchen bar and invading her personal bubble like she belongs in it.

“How was it? Is she a good kisser? Was it hot and steamy? Or romantic? She looks like the romantic type.”

“Sana! Stop talking!”

Nayeon doesn’t get seriously angry very often, but when she does, even Sana knows to shut up and do as she says, albeit pouting like a child as she sits on the edge of the sofa with arms and legs crossed in a small show of defiance, but teasing all the same.

The silence doesn’t stretch for long, extensive limbs untangling from one another as Sana leans forward conspiratorially, hands clasped together and eyes glinting with a familiar spark Nayeon knows to be wary of.

“…So?”

“You’re serious?”

“How was it? You can’t not tell me.”

It had been beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Soft, amazingly plush lips and the gentlest of fingers along the line of her jaw and against the slope of her neck, while the intoxicating scent of vanilla sent her into a galaxy of her own; but it had been the way Mina moved against her, steady and solid beneath silky touches that truly grounded her.

“It was…good.”

Sana looks ready to attack her, frustration trembling out of her limbs, before she huffs and rolls her eyes.

“Why do I even try with you?”

“Why are you in my apartment?”

She moves towards her bedroom, grabbing a towel out of the cabinet before throwing a glance over her shoulder.

“You’d better be gone by the time I’m out.”

“Why don’t I just join you instead? I could use a shower.”

“ _ Out _ .”

~

Their next shoot is in the middle of a park.

She’s paired up with Sana this time, donning outfits fit for hikes and early morning jogs, the girl’s subject for teasing being ‘ _ Sure you won’t faint? Shall I carry you, Grandmother?’ _ , and taking off at long-legged sprints before Nayeon can so much as breathe in to reprimand her.

There are people gathering to watch, drawn by flashing reflectors and the clicking of cameras, but it’s not a surprise, and Nayeon focuses on the work at hand, glad that for once she’s not partnered with a greasy man trying to cop a feel out of her.

“Should I ask for a step stool? I’m not sure you’ll make it in the cuts, Princess,” Sana says through her million-watt smile.

She’s been bombarding her with snide comments since they’d arrived and hadn’t stopped even through the duration of the photo shoot, a feat considering their director of the day is a picky man who strives for nothing short of perfection at all times.

It’s all Nayeon can do not to lash out with a flying fist to Sana’s perfect teeth and maintain a steady smile instead. She has a soft spot for her Sana, not the public’s Sana, and she can use that as an excuse if she wants to.

“No way. Aphrodite, ten o’clock.”

“What?!”

The shout escapes her before she knows it, and the crew members and spectators jump in surprise, all eyes swiveling to rest on her, and Nayeon coughs to lessen the pressure suddenly building up in layers in her chest at the attention.

“Unnie isn’t feeling well today, I’m sorry. Can we take a short break, director?”

Sana’s quick to cover up, her second persona as top model oozing charisma that Nayeon knows gets the girl what she wants whenever she wants, and the director mutters a word of agreement, calling out for a ten-minute break.

“Did you call her over so you can show off?”

“No.”

“Then what’s she doing here at five in the morning?”

Mina’s standing exactly where Sana said she’d be, wearing a one-size-too-big, yet fashionable black and white sweater and fitting white pants, her signature brown satchel thrown across her chest and hands nestled in her pockets, the epitome of peace beyond people wrestling for photos and autographs.

Locks of black are pulled back into a high ponytail, sharpening the edge of her nose and the lines of her jaw, revealing the curve of a smile along her lips, and Nayeon doesn’t think she can possibly get any more beautiful than that.

“Okay, that’s enough ogling for a lifetime. She looks like she’s here to stay. Back to work, Princess, you can meet your one true love later.”

It takes everything in her not to allow her eyes to drift towards Mina after every shutter of the camera, especially since she’s so well-versed in poses that are simple muscle memory and doesn’t require thought.

It feels like a decade before the shooting is finally finished, choruses of ‘good work’ bouncing between crew members as they pack up and move toward waiting vans, leaving them behind after Sana mentions something about wanting to take a walk.

She’s just about to make her way to Mina when a crowd of people surround them, extending pens and paper and begging for signatures that she can’t deny, vaguely listening to Sana making small talk with the fans and Nayeon distractedly murmuring thanks to those who offer her compliments while she cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of Mina.

There’s vanilla wafting into her senses, familiarly pale fingers that are nearly identical in color to the piece of blank paper between them, and Nayeon looks up to a picture of the one person she’d been looking for through the herd of those that don’t matter.

“Could I get a signature, too? I’m a big fan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you're enjoying the story. This will be a rather slow build-up so I hope you don't mind the pace. I was wondering who your favorite character is so far and why so if you'd like to let me know, I'd appreciate it in the comments. Until next time!


	5. Ash

Nayeon wonders if Sana will ever shut up.

The sky is gradually lightening to a soft, autumn blue, clouds skittering across its surface like cotton blown in the wind, and while she notices these minute details, she can’t help but pray that Sana’s tongue falls out sometime in the next two minutes.

She’s sprawled freely on the bench next to her so Nayeon’s sandwiched between the two women, and she knows the idiot’s not doing it because she’s naturally an obnoxious person (she’s surprisingly sharp and intuitive for being a child at heart), but because she just can’t pass up the golden chance to tease her and watch her burn red at her clever quips.

They’d found a relatively isolated area to sit in, nestled in an obscure corner of the park that doesn’t have much patrons at this time of morning, but Nayeon wants to be anywhere else but here.

“So, what about that first smooch? I didn’t see you that way, but you’re quite the player, Minari. Well, then again, I guess you are Aphrodite.”

Nayeon chokes on air, coughing out fragments of words meant to scratch at Sana’s ears and render her mute, but they end up escaping incoherent, the model giggling as she slaps jovially at Nayeon’s back and tells her to breathe.

“Aphrodite?”

“Sana, shut your mouth.”

Sana grins teasingly. “Maybe a story for another time.”

Nayeon deflates despite the coy threat of embarrassment in the future, but the relief lasts as long as it takes for her to blink.

“I do have some game, would you like some classes?”

Amusement plays in Mina’s tone, the younger woman leaning to flash a charming smile in Sana’s direction, and Nayeon wonders if it’s okay to let them form a bond of friendship—they’re surprisingly more alike in personality than she’d thought, but one Sana in her life is enough.

“How did you know about our shoot?”

Nayeon marvels at the way Mina’s attention rockets towards her at the first word that leaves her lips, gaze attentive and unwavering, serving to fluster her, and she’s glad she’d managed to articulate her sentence before the words had a chance to stumble.

“Oh, I didn’t know. I was out for some business and I happened to pass by. I was surprised, too, when I saw you.”

Sana beats her to the question.

“This early in the morning? Were you painting something?” 

“No, I had a meeting of sorts to go to,” Mina says lightly, leaning back into solid wood backing. “Do your shoots normally take place outside?”

It’s easy to miss the secrets that seem to revolve around Mina like a dark veil—the way she expertly slips around personal questions only to direct them to her counterpart, never fully answering inquiries of herself, and constantly being vague—because she still manages to play the part of an open mystery book, just one written in a foreign language.

Nayeon shakes her head. “Not usually. It’s difficult to get the lighting right outside for the kind of shoots we do.”

“Yeah, and I like it that way because when we do go outside it's at stupid o’clock in the morning. I’m going to go take a nap. We’ve been up since, what? Two, right?”

Nayeon takes a moment to recall the digital numbers on a blinding phone screen and nods in affirmation, only realizing then how long they’ve been awake despite it only being seven, and the fatigue that’s been steadily climbing its way to her eyelids to attach weights to them, urging them to close.

One glance at Sana tells her that she’s just as tired as she is, although she hides it behind a facade of hyperactivity, and Nayeon knows that her words are not just an excuse to leave them alone, watching her smooth out her coat of navy blue and brush her hands over her jeans.

They’d changed out of the outfits for the clothing line they’d worked with into their own clothes, and Nayeon’s glad she’d thought to wear a sweater and jeans for the cool fall weather.

“You should take Nayeon to bed, Minari. You know, be a considerate girlfriend,” Sana says with a wink.

Nayeon only just manages to restrain herself. “Minatozaki, if you don’t—”

Sana sighs loudly, effectively cutting her off and getting up from the bench, stretching towards the sky. “Well, I think I’m going to get going before you two jump each other. I don’t want to have to bleach my eyes.” She expertly dodges Nayeon’s attempt to swat her in the leg. “See you, Princess. Bye, Minari.”

Nayeon watches the girl’s retreating form, her strides longer and taking her away faster than hers ever would, shoulders pulled back and posture ramrod straight like they’ve been trained to be, and she can’t help but admire Sana’s grit. 

She’s always admired her, even if she can’t stand her most of the time.

“Have you really been up since two? Why didn’t you tell me that you had a morning schedule? I would have brought you back much earlier if I’d known.”

Mina has lines of concern etched into her face, and though she knows it’s sincere, Nayeon can’t help but wonder why she cares so much about her well-being. 

No one else she’s dated before (she says dated, but all they’d really used her for was her social status and body) had ever been concerned on whether she was getting enough sleep or eating as well as she should be, focusing on one thing and one thing only and usually getting what they desired, because she had been weak-willed and naive then.

“It’s okay. I’m used to having a weird sleep schedule.”

She makes a clumsy attempt to reassure the younger woman, but then again, she’s always been a bad liar. Especially because she communicates through body language and expressions—words are far easier to manipulate, but she’s never been able to bend them to her will.

There’s a sort of tentativeness to Mina’s motions as her hand lifts to approach Nayeon’s cheek, eyes trained on hers, and Nayeon allows her to with a flutter in her chest, letting her eyes gradually come to a close when comforting warmth cups her face and a thumb strokes lightly over her cheekbone.

“You really should get some sleep. It’s not healthy. I’ll drive you home,” Mina says softly.

Nayeon’s quick to respond, unwilling to leave just yet, not when Mina’s making her feel things like this. “No. No, I want to stay.”

Mina looks worried, the familiar crease of her brows that betrayed her the first time not hesitating to do so again, though this time, her lips follow suit, pursing in a line that looks to be drawn, and Nayeon can tell she’s chewing the inside of her cheek.

The hand melding warmth against her face has yet to fall away, and the undivided attention it offers her has Nayeon fiddling with the hem of her sweater of red and white, rubbing soft cotton between her thumb and forefinger as a means of distraction.

“How about this, then?”

A soft tap of a thumb against her cheekbone ushers her to look up, and Nayeon obeys the silent command, searching Mina’s face for an answer to her question.

“We’ll stay, but only if you promise to sleep.”

“Sleep? Where?”

Mina’s collecting her bag off of the ground and scooting away from her until she’s perched at the very end of the bench, the hand that had been cradling her cheek moments before patting her lap, a gesture that’s clear enough so Nayeon understands immediately, heat flushing her pink and broken syllables tripping over her tongue.

“N-No I’m fine. I don’t need—uhm, sleep. Not tired.”

It’s obvious Mina doesn’t believe a word she says, though she thinks she sees something close to affection coloring dark chocolate irises when she manages to muster up enough courage to look at her, a small smile curling her lips and making crescent moons out of pretty eyes.

“Then I guess I’ll have to drive you home.”

Mina motions to stand, but Nayeon finds herself shooting forward to catch the tips of slim fingers, her hand jittery from nerves that won’t settle for steady calm, and sighs out of inevitable defeat.

“…I’ll sleep.”

This time, Mina’s victorious smile is undisguised, white teeth revealing themselves in slivers between red lips as she takes back her seat on the edge of the bench, placing her satchel at her feet, and tilting her head as a sign to do as she’d promised.

She takes note of the fact that Mina likes to win.

Despite how thin the woman is, she’s surprisingly comfortable, a perfect pillow for Nayeon’s tired body, and though she’s tense at first, her muscles gradually relax until she goes limp, and the aches from being up and about so early begin to fade.

Mina’s scent of vanilla, and the warmth that seeps through her sweater, lull her to a sleepy stupor, and she finds herself succumbing to the fatigue she’d been putting off for so long.

It scares her how easily Mina’s slipping her way between the thorny defenses and iron walls that she’d so painstakingly built up over the years, how she makes her forget what it’s like to guard her heart, and how easy she makes it to brush off ghost memories of what it’s like to hurt.

She wonders why she doesn’t run away when her heart’s starting to burn.

~

Nayeon wakes to a muffled voice and a hand gently curled over her left ear.

“—with someone at the moment. No, not a client. The meeting went fine, Dahyun.”

Dahyun? She’s never heard of that name before.

“Okay, I will. Mhm. Good luck. I love you, too.”

Everything is muffled, and then it’s not, and fingers are carding through her hair instead, working through tangles with the kind of patience that’s rare to find.

“Mina?”

Nayeon’s voice should have gotten lost in the space between them, but distance doesn’t have a chance against Mina’s attentiveness, the woman reacting to her as if she’d screamed rather than breathed a whisper.

“Good morning. I’m sorry if I woke you. I had to take the call.”

“It’s okay. How long have I been asleep?”

Mina hums, twisting her wrist to glance at her watch. “About half an hour? Forty-five minutes?”

Nayeon breathes a sigh of relief at the reassurance that she hasn’t been unconscious for too long, the remnants of sleep fading away from her body.

The nearby sound of the clacking of heels on cobblestone pavement has Nayeon jolting up from Mina’s lap a second later, brief panic catching at her throat at the thought of being caught.

She can already see the headlines in her mind and it makes her shudder to think of dragging gentle, very  _ private _ Mina into some stupid overblown public scandal.

The owner of the confident steps, however, is a girl. 

A white blouse, black skirt, and a purple coat draped over one slim arm contradict the girl’s youthful features, her entire image screaming ‘wealth’, the clothes hugging her body in ways that simple department store outfits never could, and black, three-inch heels coming to a pause in front of them.

A second girl trails behind her, a stark contrast to the girl in grown up’s clothing—sneakers, a graphic sweater, ripped jeans, and tousled hair. She walks without the steely purpose that the first girl does, but with a dreamy sort of quality as if she’s floating through life without a care in the world.

Nayeon immediately recognizes her— _ hoodie girl _ .

“I thought you would be here, Unnie. Though I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting Korea’s top model perched on your lap.”

It’s a staggering opening line if Nayeon’s ever heard one.

The girl has the same sort of confidence Nayeon sees in Mina, though perhaps a bit more brash and rougher around the edges, almost as if she has yet to perfect it, but it’s confidence all the same—the kind that comes straight from the core and through the heart.

She even mirrors the older woman’s odd way of weaving together words that exude a sort of formality.

She looks to Mina for some clearance, catching shock in normally steady features for a fleeting moment before it melts into a defeated sort of smile and a shake of her head.

“Dahyun. I should have known you would find me.”

The girl grins, offering a brief image of a child beneath the mask of an adult.

“Don’t I always, Unnie?”

Mina mocks a sigh before tilting her head. “Hello, Chaeyoung, I see you’re suffering very early in the morning.”

The dark-haired girl leans out from behind the little grown-up, a small dimpled smile charming on her face. “Just trying to keep her out of trouble, Mina unnie.”

The mini grown-up scowls, turning on Chaeyoung. “Hey! You’re the delinquent here, not me!”

Just as Nayeon’s beginning to feel out of place, a hairbreadth away from plunging into cold waters of confusion, Mina reels her back in with a hand molding into the small of her back, guiding her onto shore.

“This is Nayeon. Although you already seem to know who she is.”

“Knowing her public image isn’t the same as knowing who she is, Unnie,” the girl says, voice reprimanding. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is…” The pause is brief, but there, and Nayeon catches the glance shared between Mina and mini-Mina. “Myoui Dahyun. Mina unnie’s younger sister—step sister, to be specific.”

Everything clicks into place once Dahyun mentions their relationship, the resemblance obviously not so much in appearance (though they share the same willowy figures), but in their demeanors of grace and elegance.

If Nayeon thinks about it, Dahyun is the mirror image of what she would have imagined if Mina had mentioned having a younger sister.

“Im Nayeon. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Dahyun tilts her head to the side in a bird-like way, and her eyes soften to a gentle brown, as if she finds Nayeon endearing, and Nayeon’s not sure if she should feel offended or relieved that the younger Myoui doesn’t seem to consider her a threat.

“Wait, didn’t I see you in front of that restaurant a few days ago?”

Chaeyoung’s eyes are focused on her now, expression calculating, and the full force of her attention is almost overwhelming, something about it oddly intense.

Nayeon wonders if her face is so forgettable for it to have taken so long for the girl to recognize her—although, it is a pleasant change for once, not being recognized.

“You did,” Nayeon confirms. “The painting was Mina’s.”

The girl’s eyes widen comically, the way cartoon characters’ do, a look of fear flashing in her expression like a dramatic burst of lightning. 

“Mina unnie was there?”

Dahyun turns on the girl. “What have I said about looking at your surroundings once in a while, Son Chaeyoung? I thought you’d learned something after walking into the middle of that bank robbery…”

“That was  _ one time _ !”

“In your defense, I didn’t see you either,” Mina says with a shrug. “I guess we just missed each other.”

Chaeyoung’s shoulders visibly slump in relief, the brief energy that had supercharged the small girl’s body seeming to fade and fizzle out until she seemed to reach her point of tranquility again—it’s almost alarming how quickly the shift happens, like watching an engine shut down. 

“You’re quite different from your celebrity image, Nayeon unnie,” Dahyun says with a mysterious sort of smile.

Nayeon knows what her celebrity image is—the fierce and charismatic alpha model, short of words and an exterior cold as ice, a monster on sets, a magnet for female fans who desire to be her, and a trophy for men who want to have her. 

She’s far from proud of the public’s fictional character of Star Agency’s Nayeon, a hero who only exists in the fantasies of those who will never know her.

She supposes she should be grateful Dahyun doesn’t see her in that light, nor Chaeyoung who clearly isn’t invested in the conversation anymore, her attention on a nearby flower instead.

“Although that still doesn’t explain why you were on my sister’s lap in a park at eight in the morning. Care to explain?”

At this point, Nayeon’s lost on what to say, her eyes leaving Dahyun to settle on Mina who tangles their fingers together and lifts their conjoined hands in the air, a clear elaboration for an answer that requires no words.

Dahyun stays silent, staring at Mina’s blatant response as if she’s still reading words scribbled down beneath her questionnaire, and the tension that builds from the unsettling quiet has Nayeon fidgeting and focusing on the heat threading between their skin, hoping the same heat doesn’t creep its way into her cheeks.

“Unnie, we need to talk.  _ Now _ .”

~

Sana knows Nayeon better than she knows herself.

She’s always been sharp when it comes to people, not easily swayed by sweet words and gestures despite what everyone thinks of her. 

So, when she’d first met the older girl, Nayeon had been a puzzle that never quite fit together in her head, someone who clashed against her idea of a steadfast world of cunning people not to be trusted, and Sana had been drawn in by the untainted purity of a kind soul.

As a child, Nayeon had been loud, an untameable ball of energy that bounced off of walls labeled  _ expectations _ . Despite all of that, what attracted people was the innocence that lay beneath the sunshine and glitter and spotlights.

Until it wasn’t.

She’d always expected Nayeon’s innocence to come crumbling down one way or another, because nothing gold ever stays, but she’d never imagined it would be dealt a blow by something that would strike Sana’s anger into an inferno of indestructible flames.

By the age of seventeen, Nayeon had looked the part of a high school heart throb, even when she didn’t seem to realize it, and Sana had noticed plenty of leering glances thrown in the older girl’s direction with gossip to boot, and had been forced to, on more than one occasion, endeavour on damage control.

Sana had known that the boy would be trouble the moment she laid eyes on his muscular frame and dyed blonde hair, the very image of a conquistador searching for gold on untrodden land—a conquistador that would only put the land to waste after his selfish means were satisfied. 

Needless to say, the relationship hadn’t ended on friendly terms, Sana had been suspended for dealing a well-executed roundhouse kick where the sun didn’t shine, and even through Nayeon’s endless waterfall of tears, she’d still managed to scold her.

Innocence is easily broken, but naivete is something stronger and far more ignorant.

Nayeon was plenty naive, and Sana had watched as the older girl continued to trip over the same step again and again, while she learned how to catch her from below without crashing down herself.

A girl named Jeongyeon had been the final push that caused the teetering wall of everything good to come crashing down into nothing more than rubble with Sana there desperately trying to keep up the shattered bricks and debris that the blow left behind.

Jeongyeon was strikingly beautiful, a transfer student who wreaked havoc among both the faculty and student body—an immediate star in the campus who decided that her target would be none other than innocent heart throb, Im Nayeon.

Sana had watched, a silent spectator, as Nayeon was whisked away in a whirlwind of hot and steamy romance, a fire which burned bright initially, but one that she knew wouldn’t last long, not when Jeongyeon continued to hoard a pile of firewood back from the flames that Nayeon loyally fed like she had with all the others.

Eventually, the fire had burned out, just as Sana had predicted it would, leaving just another charred pile of ash in Nayeon’s tired heart that Sana knew the older girl would never be able to fully clean out.

That was when Nayeon changed.

Sana had watched the girl she loved like a sister become someone foreign, darker and quieter, the doors that had once been open to invite all shut, barred, and chained with a warning label plastered over them in bright red.

The naivete was gone, and with it, the light of innocence.

Nayeon’s words came few and far between, rather than in overexcited rambles that only strung together with the force of the older girl’s voice, and Sana forgot what it felt like to have her laughter ringing in her ears.

They had crushed the sweet and innocent Im Nayeon for the pathetic fact that people saw her as nothing but a golden trophy, and nothing of what Sana saw in her, and Sana can’t help but feel like a part of it is her fault—because she’d only dragged on her suffering for a life sentence in the industry of celebrities.

~

Sana’s going to sue Nayeon for almost giving her cardiac arrest.

She’s kind of, sort of, slightly overprotective with family, and because she considers Nayeon a part of that family, and because she’s with her at almost every given day, Nayeon receives most of her tough love.

So, when she stumbles on that one article with a picture of Nayeon getting manhandled by some big, bumbling buffoon, she flips her top.

She’s already putting the phone to her ear by the time she has Nayeon’s apartment number punched in (0000 because Nayeon’s memory span is shorter than the length of a toothpick) and growls like an animal by the time the older woman picks up.

She’s calm for the first three seconds of the phone call.

“Where are you, Unnie?”

Then, she explodes.

When it’s all over, she’s left seething with the phone beeping a farewell instead of Nayeon, and a burning question that has yet to be answered, but most definitely will be—if it’s the last thing she does.

Aphrodite is a name on a phone screen that Sana suddenly finds hope in, a goddess in a storm that Sana had thought would never end.

At first, it’s in the tremble of Nayeon’s voice and the way the words stumble and flow awkwardly from her lips that catches her attention. Then, it’s the glimmer of hope in her eyes that she sees the Nayeon she’d once known peeking out of the ashes and rubble of a ruined heart.

When she finally gets to meet Aphrodite, she understands why Nayeon’s found interest in the captivating woman in black and white who exudes the tranquil confidence of a standing tree that even Sana finds respect in.

Hell, she’s different, and even Sana would date her, and she knows she’s just what Nayeon needs.

Mina is something else entirely, Sana comes to find, a deviousness that seems to be on par with her own, but also a mysteriousness that isn’t as subtle as it should be, something that cloaks the younger woman like a creeping shadow.

Sana knows what mystery looks like, because she carries it with her, too, although far more subtle than Mina’s is, and it can be because of the difference in size of their baggage, or the fact that she’s simply more experienced in keeping secrets locked away and throwing away the keys.

Even with the lingering void of unknown, Sana is a good judge of character, and Mina seems genuine, considerate in a way others had failed to so much as mimic, and a gentlewoman to the very tee.

She’d proved it during her interrogation.

It’s on their second meeting that Sana’s curiosity takes another twist.

She hadn’t missed Mina’s theme of black and white the first time around (being naturally observant, and it isn’t as if it’s easy to look over), nor did she miss the threadbare brown satchel that didn’t quite complement the otherwise elegant visual the younger woman sports.

She knows Nayeon better than the woman knows herself, and Nayeon’s always been the type to see the big picture rather than the small details that Sana scrutinizes and stresses on.

It’s subtle, but it’s there often enough for her to notice it.

She notices it in the durations of their conversations. Sana has the habit of studying people while they talk, taking note of every quirk and tick that a person has, and conjuring deductions that, more often than not, prove to be correct.

She’d initially believed that Mina simply enjoyed talking to people while maintaining eye contact. It’s respectful, and there’s no harm that can come from it, so she’d only jotted it down as one of her quirks in her file labeled  _ Aphrodite  _ and slid it back into her mental cabinet.

The file would have stayed in the cabinet, collecting dust and eventually forgotten, if Sana hadn’t started to notice the way that Mina’s eyes seemed to run from the outside world.

The woman’s gaze snaps back and forth like a ping pong ball when there’s nothing in particular she can focus on, and even when it’s subtle enough not to be noticed, well, Sana’s always liked to play sleuth.

Whatever the mystery is, it can wait, because Nayeon is the happiest she’s seen since high school, and Sana isn’t willing to be the one to burst that bubble with her silly probing and prodding through amateur detective work.

She’ll wait, but until then, she’ll keep an eye on her princess’ goddess of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments on the last chapter! I had a lot of fun reading them and seeing which character is the most likeable. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Until next time!


	6. Truth

Nayeon just wants to go home.

There’s music blasting at full volume around her and the smell of alcohol pungent in the air, sharp and bitter—much alike the taste in her mouth.

Company parties are the worst kind because they’re mandatory and overflowing with Korea’s most stuck up celebrities—a cult of adults who have yet to mature—a crowd she doesn’t want to be a part of.

She doesn’t usually enjoy the taste of alcohol, but Sana’s nowhere to be found, lost in the sea of people she vaguely recognizes, and she doesn’t think she can last long sober.

It doesn’t take long for the room to start blurring and the ear-splitting music to shift into a pleasant buzzing that she thinks she can sleep to, but before she can put her head down (just for a little bit, she swears), pink hair swoops into her vision and Nayeon can smell perfume that she thinks is familiar.

“How much did you have to drink? Oh my—are you drunk already?”

“Satang, I wanna go home.”

She giggles. Her voice sounds funny, sort of like she’s underwater.

“You lightweight. What do I do with you?”

It’s kind of cold, and Sana’s giving off warmth like a heater, which makes sense because her hair is pink and heat is pink, sort of, and she just wants to cuddle against her—so she does.

She feels Sana sigh and mutter something under her breath that Nayeon couldn’t make out if she tried, and then there are fingers running through her hair and Sana’s body pressing closer to her.

Nayeon feels safe like she always does when she’s with Sana.

“Hello? You weren’t sleeping were you, Minari? Good. Because your girlfriend’s wasted right now and I can’t take her home. Yeah, it’s a company party, and I need to stay for a while. Okay. Thanks. It’s the bar near the company, shouldn’t be too far. We’ll be waiting outside. I’ll text you the address.”

She peers up at Sana, trying to put together the one-sided conversation she heard, the word ‘girlfriend’ floating into mind, and she tugs at Sana’s pretty black dress.

“Was that Mitang?”

Sana looks down at her and rolls her eyes, handing her a glass of water from the bar.

“Yes, so drink some water, Princess. No need to give her a harder time.”

She takes the glass only because Sana’s being her personal heater, and she thinks she owes her something for that.

“Nope. Drink all of it.”

“But—”

“—Im Nayeon.”

Nayeon pouts at her even though she knows it’s completely useless when Sana’s staring her down as if she were a puppy who did something bad, and allows the rest of the water to slide down her throat.

“Alright, let’s get you outside.”

Sana lifts her off the barstool as easily as she would carry a child, and even when alcohol’s still fizzing in her system and toying with her functions, she still feels embarrassment hot inside her stomach.

“I’m not a kid. I can walk by myself.”

Nayeon wrenches out of Sana’s grip with a scowl written across her face, and takes a few steps forward, because she’s not even  _ that _ drunk, but then the whole world sort of tilts to the left and Sana’s arm is around her waist again and setting the floor back into place.

“And pigs can fly. Come on, Princess. Your Aphrodite is waiting for you.”

When they finally make it outside, Nayeon thinks that fresh air is the best thing in the entire world, and no one should be subjected to stuffy clubs when there’s something this good just outside the doors.

Then, she sees the most beautiful woman she’s ever laid eyes on leaning against the surface of a black car, wearing familiar black and white, hands pushed into pockets, and Nayeon thinks she catches a faraway look in her eyes.

“She’s pretty, huh, Satang? Wow. Maybe she  _ is  _ a—a celebrity.”

Sana’s hand settles on her head and pushes her back down onto her heels.

“No,  _ you’re _ the celebrity, and we’d better get you in that car, fast. Why are there so many people around here, anyway?”

Nayeon’s not sure why that’s such a bad thing,  _ the more the merrier,  _ but she dutifully allows Sana to lead her towards Mina and her car. She hopes her cheeks aren’t as red as they feel, because that would be embarrassing.

“Hey, Minari. Thanks for coming.”

“Is she alright?”

The woman’s leaning closer to her and Nayeon smells sweet vanilla that’s more intoxicating than all the alcohol she’d consumed earlier  _ (God, how many did she even have?) _ , and she feels like she’s going to pass out.

“Probably not. Nayeon doesn’t like drinking usually, plus she’s a lightweight. Anyway, she should be fine by tomorrow. She doesn’t get hangovers. Oh, and be careful with her. She gets talkative and clingy when she’s drunk.”

“No, I don’t!” Nayeon whines.

“Right. Whatever you say, Princess. Anyway, are you going to take her to your house?”

“If that’s okay with you. I’d like to keep an eye on her, and it would be easier to take care of her at my house.”

“That’s fine. It’d probably be better that way. Okay, Princess, go to your girlfriend.”

Nayeon feels herself being transported from Sana’s arms to Mina’s (her  _ girlfriend’s) _ , so she’s holding onto a silky white blouse instead.

“Good luck, Sana.”

“Thanks again, Minari. Really. Have fun, you two! But not too much fun!”

The woman’s just a little shorter than Nayeon is, and she wonders if she’s so light that even beautiful, petite goddesses can hold her as easily as if she were a stuffed animal. 

“Hi, Minari, you’re pretty.”

There’s brief silence, then a light chuckle that vibrates against her arm, and fingers brushing away strands of brown she hadn’t even realized were there, the sweet gestures setting flames licking up her neck and along her cheeks that she hopes aren’t strong enough to burn.

“Minari, huh? You’re very pretty yourself, Nayeon. And rather cute when drunk.”

Before she has time to process it, Nayeon’s slumped in the passenger’s seat with Mina leaning over her body, the seat belt clasped in hand.

Nayeon wants to hug her. So, she leans up a little bit, wraps her arms around Mina’s back and stomach, and rests her head against her ribcage—it’s hard and protrudes too much.

“You smell nice. But you should, uhm, eat more.”

She’s allowed to do this, right? Because she’s her girlfriend, and Nayeon should take care of her like Mina does.

Mina’s back is rigid against her arm and Nayeon doesn’t think she’s breathing, because her stomach isn’t going up and down like it should be.

“I—I will. I have to drive, so if you would be so kind as to let me go?”

Nayeon whines, but she does as she’s told, letting her arms drop so they’re not cocooning Mina’s body like a trap, and sinking her head into the cushion of the car seat. 

She thinks she prefers Mina as her headrest more, even if it’s a little harder and a little less giving.

“Let’s get you home.”

~

Mina’s house is the epitome of black and white.

She gets propped gently against the black, wooden wall as the door clicks shut behind them. The older woman is at her feet, fingers wrapped delicately around her ankle as she takes her heels off and places her bare feet onto black and white marble tiles.

“Your ankles are the size of my wrists,” Mina mumbles. “And you tell me I should eat more.”

Nayeon can’t stop the giggle from escaping her lungs, resting her temple against the wood because she’s still sort of dizzy, though she doesn’t feel like throwing up anytime soon—thankfully.

“I guess I’m a hypocrite.”

Before she knows it, she’s being towed into Mina’s apartment the same way she had been led into Mr. Choi’s restaurant on their “first date”—a little protective, plenty gentle.

The furniture, the walls, floor and ceiling, all conform to Mina’s color scheme in a drastic fashion. It’s aesthetic, and the apartment clearly lounges high on the spectrum of price and luxury.

The details pierce through the haze of alcohol and cling to Nayeon’s vague logic that Mina is no amateur artist—if she is an artist at all.

“Stay here for just a while. I’ll be right back.”

The white leather of the couch, though initially cool, almost instantly warms against her skin as if it senses her presence, and Nayeon blinks blearily at Mina’s moving figure in the distance.

Her fingers habitually begin to play with the fabric of her dress (most of the time she isn’t even aware she’s doing it), a habit even she’s not sure where or when it began, but one she can’t seem to put on pause—like a song put on replay on a stereo with a broken remote.

The ritualistic movement calms her during stressful times, so it’s not completely useless.

Mina’s taking a seat beside her and placing a glass of water on the coffee table, looking at her like she’s the only one in the world that matters with eyes of never ending black.

“Are you still feeling alright?”

It’s not an answer that she returns, but a question that she doesn’t quite regret by the time she realizes what she's said.

“Why is everything black and white?”

She sounds like someone who’d opened their eyes and realized that the world had lost its color.

Nayeon wonders if she’s enough of a coward for it to take liquid courage streaming through her bloodstream to ask a simple question like this.

She would have stopped then, never one to pry, but the gears in her brain still aren’t up to speed and the words keep tumbling out before she can taste them and decide whether they’re okay or not.

“Your clothes, your car, your house. They’re all black and white. Why?”

Limbs snap into rigid attention and she can see muscles tighten in Mina’s arms, the tension palpable in the air while the mystery begins to thicken.

Mina’s eyes don’t leave hers for a second, even when there’s shock coloring their edges and eyelashes fluttering against cheekbones.

Nayeon wants to comfort her and tell her that she can confide in her with anything, even if it’s her deepest, darkest secret, because she’s already too lost in Mina’s mystery maze.

She scoots closer to the frozen figure and extends a hand so they brush against white knuckles.

Quiet, confident Mina doesn’t look scared—she looks terrified.

She decides that if she wants Mina to open up, it’s only fair if she does it first.

“No one’s ever treated me the way you do.”

She wants to look away so her heart won’t be so blindingly bare for Mina to see and feel and judge, but she won’t because she needs this. They both do.

“No one’s ever treated me like I could be normal, like I could be less than perfect, like I could be broken,” she reaches to tangle her fingers into the younger woman’s shirt. “No one’s ever treated me like I could be a human being, but you make me feel like I am.”

There are emotions bubbling in the pit of her stomach that feel all too unfamiliar when they shouldn’t be, and this time, Nayeon doesn’t pull them back like unruly dogs on leashes, but let them run free like wolves on a hunt for something bigger and something better.

“You make me feel like I don’t have to be picture perfect, or put on a mask so you can’t see the cracks underneath them. I don’t think I can ever find someone else like you. And I just want you to know that I’ll understand you. Whatever it is.”

Mina’s impossibly black eyes shimmer in a way that reminds Nayeon of a starry night sky, and there’s a pang in her chest at the realization that she could never make Mina look at her like that when she’s sober.

The curled fist and snow white knuckles gradually lose their tension like a slackening rope, but Mina looks away as if scathed. Nayeon only finds comfort in the fact that she doesn’t pull away from her touch.

“Nayeon, I don’t know if I can—”

Nayeon doesn’t have the steady confidence Mina does and she knows she’s reaching her limit, even when under the influence, and she’s suddenly desperate.

“Mina, please.”

It’s clear that Mina isn’t ready to hack away the lock on iron doors just yet, features softening into an expression of apology.

“This isn’t a conversation we should be having when you’re inebriated. Tomorrow morning. I’ll tell you what you need to know. I promise.”

~

When Nayeon wakes up, she thinks she’s gone colorblind.

The ceiling is black and white tiles of marble, and once she’s oriented enough to sit up, it’s clear that everything around her lacks any sort of color.

Right. She’s at Mina’s house.

Nayeon isn’t the type to drink and forget, and more often than not, her memory is crystal clear the morning after despite having been blackout drunk the night before.

It’s both a blessing and a curse.

“Oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Nayeon’s startled to hear Mina’s voice so tentative and trembling around the edges—an uncertainty that doesn’t quite match with her confident persona.

It’s unsettling and she wants to fix that.

“I’m okay. I don’t get hangovers.”

Mina’s leaning against the doorway with a steaming mug in hand, dressed in an oversized sweater and loose sweatpants, white and black respectively—and  _ hell _ if she isn’t the most attractive thing in the world right now.

The pensiveness that had been tightening the corners of her lips and the creases of her eyes soften, though they don’t quite disappear, a small smile scribbling its way across her lips.

“I heard.”

There’s silence again, but the newfound vulnerability in pools of black reminds her of her drunken spiel of yesterday.

“I remember. Everything I said,” Nayeon begins. She pauses when Mina jerks as if she’d been electrocuted, only just managing to keep the contents of her mug in its place, and continues when she looks back at Nayeon with the widest of eyes. “I meant all of it. Just wanted you to know.”

She’s suddenly more confident with the older woman now that she can see the hints of cracks beneath a seemingly flawless surface, so she at least doesn’t stutter like a child with stage fright and settles back into her routine caveman staccato for speech.

Nayeon isn’t sure what to do when Mina’s blinking at her owlishly.

Her eyes are still intimidating and she can’t keep a proper hold on her confidence for long if Mina keeps this up.

“I—Thank you. Is it okay if I…”

Mina gestures to the bed and Nayeon shifts to make room in a quiet response.

She feels the dip in the bed, so light that Nayeon finds concern for Mina’s weight wriggling in the back of her mind once again, but settles patiently for an explanation.

“I promised to tell you what you need to know.”

Mina’s eyes rest on anything that isn’t Nayeon, hopping from one point in the room to the next as if she’s running away from something.

It prods Nayeon in the chest, aching for her to do something _ , anything,  _ because how many times has Mina been there for her? From the very beginning? So she inches forward to offer a steady hand over white knuckles.

Mina’s reaction is instantaneous, melting like butter underneath her touch, and she hears air coiling out from clearly oxygen deprived lungs.

“It’s okay.”

Eventually, Nayeon’s looking into clear orbs of the midnight sky instead of thick lashes that serve as makeshift clouds.

There’s fear and uncertainty raw and real in Mina’s gaze, so much so that it takes the oxygen straight out of her system.

The mystery isn’t there at all.

“Color in this world doesn’t have the same meaning for me as it does for others. I find peace in black and white and I have an unhealthy obsession for it.”

Nayeon can feel the tremors wracking Mina’s body beneath her grip, and she doesn’t dare let go.

“PTSD. Diagnosed, but never treated because I couldn’t bring up the courage to—to admit that I was broken— _ am _ broken. It’s only when I’m creating art that I can stand color. I have panic attacks and severe anxiety.”

There’s fear etched in deep caverns in the rise and fall of Mina’s voice, and they drive straight and true into Nayeon’s chest.

“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. I’m sorry for leading you to think that—”

Nayeon’s quick to interject, tightening her grip on Mina—to let her know that the last thing on her mind is letting go.

“You didn’t lead me on. You shouldn’t be forced to say anything you’re not comfortable with. It’s just another part of you. I said I’d understand. I understand.”

She’s proud of the words that flow steadily when it matters most, scanning Mina for any signs of turmoil.

She finds relief instead, shoulders inching down from a soldier-like posture, eyes flickering with shocked uncertainty, then acceptance.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

There are no questions.

~

Dahyun just wants to be normal.

She’s sitting through another meeting in a room that reeks of men’s cologne and shoe polish, smells that she’s learned to get used to over time.

She hates all of it.

Her seat is at the head of the table, posture the mirror image of her mother’s (she’s filling in for her after all), expression stonily silent.

The men give her furtive glances as they take turns reporting the company’s affairs, and if Dahyun wasn’t so tired of it all, she’d find it comical—middle-aged men dancing around an eighteen-year-old girl on her last leg of high school.

When the fourth man begins rattling off numbers like an auctioneer, she allows her thoughts to wander to more pressing matters.

_ “Does she know anything, Unnie?” _

_ “No, but—” _

_ “But nothing, Unnie! You cannot possibly be serious about this. Mother would—” _

_ “— _ Dahyun _. I will work it out one way or another. I promise. Nayeon, she’s…different. I don’t want to lose her.” _

Dahyun drums her fingers against polished mahogany, blinking away memory reels at a wary voice.

“Ms. Kim Dahyun?”

Kim Dahyun. Not Myoui Dahyun. Right.

“Yes?”

“Are we dismissed?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Thank you for your hard work.”

She stands as protocol, brushing down her uniform black skirt and white blouse, and inclines her head as a form of respect, which the men return before exiting the room.

_ 7:43 p.m. _

Once the door closes behind the last man, she collapses against black leather and soft cushion.

She’s given barely two minutes to rest before her phone begins to vibrate in her purse, unclasping the buckle and answering the call.

“The meeting just ended, Mother.”

“Good. You may go home now. I expect to see you studying when I return.”

“Of course, Mother.”

The call ends just like that.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, a brief twinge that she’s learned to ignore and deal with.

She has several people to blame for her position in life, but one person that would take the brunt of the accusation—the one person she cares the most for.

Afterall, Myoui Mina should have been the one to inherit the throne of Star Agency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's the big reveal! The ball is rolling now so strap in for the rest of the ride. Thank you so much for 200 kudos! I really appreciate the support and it helped me in writing the next few chapters. I hope you enjoyed. Until next time!


	7. Lies

Nayeon braces herself for an explosion that never comes.

Sana’s watching her with quiet eyes that portray a serenity she’s not used to seeing in pools of autumn brown. 

“I thought so,” she muses, nimble fingers playing with strands of bright pink.

She’d re-dyed her hair just this morning, waving away Nayeon’s concern for the damage and assuring her that it would be fine.

Nayeon’s betting on it dying in just short of a month.

She can feel her brows straining to meet above the bridge of her nose at the nonchalant response that Sana casually lets flow.

She doesn’t like the idea of the idiot possibly knowing something about her girlfriend before her.

“What do you mean?”

Sana sits up on her bed, offering her a look that Nayeon knows all too well.

“Really? Even you can’t be blind enough to miss the whole black-and-white thing.”

“I didn’t. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then, what? The PTSD thing? You do know that you’re pretty dense most of the time, right?”

Nayeon bites on her tongue at the statement that prods at her conscience, straining to recall anything she may have missed.

There’s nothing she can think of other than the glaringly obvious affiliation for black-and-white and the mystery cloud that had shrouded the woman for so long.

She feels guilt gnaw away at her heart for the attentiveness that Mina unconditionally gives her that she can’t seem to reciprocate, chewing at her bottom lip.

“Not your fault that I excel in minute details, I suppose. You just look at the big picture, that’s all.”

She must look really upset if Sana’s backtracking. 

“What did I miss?”

“Get in here first and cuddle me. It’s the least you can do for disturbing my beauty sleep.”

“I have a girlfriend.”

Sana scoffs, pulling back sickeningly purple blankets and waving her in.

“Please, I’m too good for you. Hurry up. It’s getting cold.”

She does as she’s told, sliding under the covers so their arms are pressed against each other and she can feel the woman’s body heat melding with her own.

“There. Not so hard, was it?”

Nayeon frowns.

“Tell me.”

“It’s in her eyes,” Sana says, “For someone that seems so put together, they run away a lot.”

Run away? If anything, Mina’s eyes have always been steady, never wavering and always firm in their stance. She wonders if they’re talking about the same Mina.

“Well, except when she’s looking at you.”

Nayeon’s always fallen far too deep into endless pools of midnight and colorless schemes of black and white to notice something as subtle as that.

Sana shifts beside her so she’s curled against her side instead, arm thrown over her stomach and face buried into her shoulder. It would have been awkward if it hadn’t been for the fact that this happened on a weekly basis.

“I think that’s enough about your girlfriend. I’m tired.”

Nayeon obediently falls silent, staring up at a star-speckled, black marble ceiling that resembles the one Sana has back home.

Except, this one is more astronomically correct, and costs a lot more money than cheap, glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on a drywall ceiling.

Sana has always had an interest in space, and Nayeon had helped her glue those plastic stars on the ceiling as kids so she could sleep better at night.

They have a packed schedule tomorrow: back-to-back photoshoots and a midnight radio show to boot. It’s exhausting.

She wants to quit it all.

She lets her eyes flutter shut and pushes away heavy thoughts to make way for tendrils of sleep.

~

Nayeon’s glad her photoshoots are with Sana.

The pink-haired, glamourous woman with overwhelming charisma is enough of a deterrent for spoiled adult children who conjure up drama from thin air.

And, of course, their reputation as top models in the industry.

She’s plenty aware of the stolen glances and hushed whispers that erupt around them whenever they walk by, but she keeps her eyes trained forward and her steps full of purpose just like she’s learned to do.

“You ready to destroy these sorry excuses for models?”

“Whatever you say, Sana.”

“You’re never any fun, you know that?”

Nayeon shrugs noncommittally, glancing around the crowded studio before reacting to the sudden vibrations in the seams of her jeans.

_ Sender: Unknown number _

_ This is Myoui Dahyun, Mina unnie’s younger sister.  _

_ If I could have some of your time, I have something  _

_ I would like to discuss with you. _

She reads over it again and then one more time, processing words on a glowing screen while her thoughts run a mile a minute. 

It isn’t particularly alarming that Dahyun had managed to acquire her number—she is her girlfriend’s sister after all—but the fact that she wants to talk to her in private is. 

Ever since Mina had waltzed into her life with an eccentricity that didn’t belong in her world, she’d experienced so many oddities that she hasn’t had time to run them through her head yet.

It’s almost instinct when she taps the box to formulate a reply, still blinking steadily at the text box as if it would disappear at any given moment. It doesn’t.

_ Sender: Im Nayeon _

_ I’m free tomorrow around noon. _

Sana’s still rambling on about some drama she’d watched a few nights ago, her expression animated and gestures over exaggerated so she resembles a character from the cartoons she’d watched as a kid.

She doesn’t expect the reply that buzzes along her fingers half a minute after she taps send.

_ Sender: Unknown number _

_ Then tomorrow noon at The Cafe? _

Nayeon bypasses the place often but she’s never had the motivation or chance to visit the place, finding the coffee shop she frequents satisfying enough to remain loyal.

Nevertheless, she constructs a quick response and gives it a once over before sending it on its way, stowing away her phone before Sana can question it.

_ Sender: Im Nayeon _

_ That’s fine. I’ll see you there. _

Sana nudges her shoulder a moment later, jerking her head towards the set where two women are monitoring their shoots, looking slightly disgruntled before trudging off to their seats. 

She follows Sana up, subtly rolling back her shoulders and working out the minor kinks in her neck and arching her back.

Her hair and makeup are immaculately done, colors that directly replicate warm, inviting colors of autumn leaves to suit the fall season. 

She’s wearing high-waisted jeans and sweater, finishing up the look with black combat boots, while Sana sports a more casual approach with a beige coat and sneakers instead.

There’s a collective hush as they step into the spotlight, the lighting already turning her warm as she steps into place, allowing the stylists to initiate last minute touch ups.

She’s used to both literal and figurative limelights, used to being the center of attention, used to being scrutinized to the tee.

Yeah, she’s used to it.

~

Face masks are created by heaven’s angels and no one can tell her otherwise.

As soon as she steps into  _ The Cafe _ with her favorite black mask draped like a blanket across her face and adopting a deceivingly hunched posture to ward away scrutinizing eyes, she heads straight for a vacant seat nestled in the far corner.

It’s habit at this point, and she feels like a seasoned cop too wary of the world to offer it an ounce of her trust.

_ The Cafe _ is a nice place overall: dark wood walls and floors, high ceiling with hanging lights, organized counter, but a busier ambiance than her coffee shop—better for her considering the fact that she blends in a lot easier.

She’d barely taken a seat when Dahyun walks in, confident steps clacking against laminated floorboards and drawing even the attention of weary college students (a feat considering how brain-dead they all are).

The girl has a presence that demands attention, exuding an aura of confidence that can’t be faked, and Nayeon knows then and there that her inconspicuous entrance was for naught. The girl could rival Sana even without the height and vibrant pink hair.

Dahyun clacks her way to her table, a smile soft across her lips, even going so far as to lighten her eyes.

“Hello, Nayeon unnie.”

“Hi.”

Dahyun takes a seat in front of her as she places her purse that Nayeon knows is far over an average citizen’s price range on the chair beside her.

First Mina and now her. It’s reaching impossible not to notice the expenses of their belongings.

“I believe we should order first, right?”

The girl raises a dainty hand that has an employee springing into action, weaving his way through the maze of occupied seats to reach their table.

“Welcome to  _ The Cafe.  _ What would you ladies like today?”

“I’d like an iced americano, please.”

“A regular coffee. Please.”

There’s silence for a beat too long, and Nayeon looks up just in time to catch the glint of recognition in the man’s eyes, familiar and dreaded.

“You’re—”

Nayeon’s confused at the words that stay stuck in the employee’s throat, until she’s looking down to see Dahyun’s hand resting against his forearm, gentle enough so it’s not aggressive, but firm enough that it draws attention.

She leans towards him conspiratorially and Nayeon watches as the man instinctively follows suit.

“My friend and I would truly appreciate it if you could keep this quiet. We don’t have the opportunity to meet often, so it would mean a lot.”

Nayeon can’t help but admire the girl’s steadfast approach and sincere demeanor—the definition of someone who’s truly comfortable in her own skin.

It’s obvious at this point that the man is willing to do anything to appease Dahyun, nodding in quick succession as his gaze darts towards her only to speed away again.

A smile from Dahyun and a quick flash of a nod from herself has him scurrying away with their orders on a notepad, the nerves that had only been coiling tighter and tighter beginning to smooth out.

“Thank you for that,” Nayeon breathes out.

“Of course, Unnie.”

“You wanted to talk?”

Dahyun’s expression shifts into business, warmth receding from pools of brown as her posture stiffens into one Nayeon’s seen in countless working class men and women walking along the streets.

It shouldn’t belong to someone as young as her.

“Well, it’s about Mina unnie.”

It only then occurs to her that she should mention their early morning conversation, even if it’s not in detail.

“She told me. PTSD.”

Dahyun looks genuinely taken aback, brow arching and lips parting just the slightest in a way that Nayeon wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t witnessed the change.

“Unnie must like you a lot more than I expected. I don’t mean that as an insult, really,” Dahyun adds quickly. “I’m just genuinely surprised. Her strong suit isn’t in trusting other people, but you seem to have earned it in record timing.”

She feels odd pride in the statement, thinking back to Mina’s vulnerable figure and cracked shell that she’d willingly put on display for her to see. She knows how difficult it is to pull down walls that you’ve so painstakingly built, no matter who you tear them down for.

“Despite that, what I wanted to tell you—”

“Myoui Dahyun, what do you think you’re doing?”

The timbre of the voice is familiar, the husky undertone a dead give away to the person expelling it into crowded air that suddenly thins out into nothing because the coldness of it is foreign.

Nayeon finds herself reeling back goosebumps.

A quick study of Mina—windswept hair, crinkled shirt, lopsided satchel—tells her that she hadn’t taken her time in reaching them. 

There’s a sort of wild fury in Mina’s midnight sky for eyes and they send a legitimate thrill of fear through her.

“U-Unnie.”

Mina grabs her by the crook of her arm and yanks her out of her seat, harsh and demanding that Nayeon almost yelps for everyone to hear.

It’s not so much out of pain or fear, but shock at Mina’s jagged movements and shattered tranquility, something she’d believed to be a constant in her persona.

“We’re leaving,” Mina growls through her teeth.

“Unnie, wait!”

And before she can so much as process it, Nayeon’s being whisked out into the cool autumn air, duly aware of a vice-like grip and furious strength that she never would have imagined coming from the woman in black and white.

Shock keeps her silent and equal parts compliant as Mina drags her through colorful streets littered with pink, orange, and gold, and she can only hope she knows where she’s going because Nayeon’s horrible with directions.

It’s only when they continue walking for another minute that Nayeon finally snaps out of it, stopping in her tracks and tugging back her captive arm.

She’s scared and confused, and she wants answers.

Mina turns around in a whirlwind of dark tresses, breathing heavily with a rosy tint to fair skin that Nayeon would have found enamouring if it wasn’t for the situation they were in.

“What’s going on? Why are you like this?”

The wild light in Mina’s eyes blink out of existence as abruptly as it had appeared, and Nayeon can see horror dawning in them instead, as if the woman was just coming to the realization of what she had done.

A pale hand hastily slips away from her arm, the unwarranted grip replaced by trembling fingers instead, a light gasp escaping equally shaky lips.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Did I hurt you?”

Nayeon rubs against reddening skin, easing away the tingles from the lack of circulation—not pain.

“No, I’m okay.”

She watches as Mina runs fingers through her hair, expression drawn and pensive as she takes in a deep breath and sighs.

Passersby simply walk around them, not sparing them a second glance even as they stand in the middle of the sidewalk as if they’re the only two people in the world.

“Why are you so angry?”

Nayeon’s never been great at interrogation and conflict, usually leaving that for Sana to major in, and avoiding it herself altogether. 

But Mina makes her want to  _ know, _ and Nayeon can’t tell if that’s a bad thing or not.

“Dahyun shouldn’t have contacted you without letting me know. It isn’t her place.”

Nayeon feels a telltale knot in the pit of her stomach at the words, Mina’s expression not offering much comfort behind its iron curtain.

“Are you hiding something?”

There’s a moment of fleeting hesitation that Nayeon catches beneath a wall of unyielding silver, but then it disappears and there’s only a stone-like cold left behind. 

“No, of course not.”

~

Nayeon hates lies.

No matter how painful the truth, she’s always appreciated it because it’s the highest form of honesty there is.

Telling the truth isn’t easy at the best of times, but that’s why she admires it.

Lying is cowardice and deceit, utilized when people can’t bring themselves to face the facts even as they tell themselves that it’s to protect the one they love.

She’s learned a long time ago that the truth always has a way of slipping out from murky waters, battered and dirty from suppression, but triumphant in the end.

Nayeon may be dull when it comes to certain things, but she has an uncanny knack for spotting lies, no matter how experienced her counterpart is at telling them.

So, Mina’s lie cuts into her like a knife, carving the word into her skin over and over again, staining her in fiery crimson that just  _ hurts _ . 

Trust isn’t something that comes naturally to her, not since Jeongyeon. But Mina had managed to somehow build herself a small base of trust in Nayeon’s heart, the beginning of something that could possibly grow like a delicate flower in a barren wasteland.

Sana, despite being mischievous and teasing, almost insensitive at times, always seems to be in tune with Nayeon’s emotions, adopting a keen sense for mood only when it has to do with her.

This time isn’t any different.

“What’s up?”

Her response is automatic, but futile.

“Nothing.”

Sana doesn’t so much as spare her a glance, continuing to tap away at colorful, glowing dots racing down her phone screen, grumbling at a duly missed one that flashes the designs red.

“You know better than that by now.”

Nayeon purses her lips, glowering at pink hair curtaining an undoubtedly concentrated expression, and waits for the game to end _. _

_ Really, how long can a stupid game last? _

Apparently a while.

It’s only by sheer luck that Sana’s game ends just as her patience wears thin like brakes on a tire abused for too long, taking in a deep breath as she watches the woman toss down her phone with careless abandon and only then offers her full attention.

“You done?”

“Patience, Grandmother.”

It requires all of her willpower not to strike out and deliver a well-deserved blow to the idiot’s pink head.

“So, really. What’s up?”

“…She lied to me.”

The statement springs out like a jack-in-the-box, abrupt and jarring in the way the words come gravelling out of her throat, and even she’s taken aback by the rawness of it—rubbed clean to the bone.

The effect is instantaneous, Sana’s lazy sprawl across the couch snapping into attention, expression hard and ready to defend, to protect. The instincts of a mother bear.

“What did she lie to you about?”

“…I don’t know.”

Sana throws up her hands in a way that Nayeon can tell doesn’t symbolize surrender, exasperation clear across sharp features as she stares at her incredulously. 

“Then how do you know she lied to you?”

Nayeon bites her lip that’s free from flecks of bright red or pink for once, worrying soft flesh that’s accustomed to the abuse by now, fiddling with the end of her sweater with thoughtful fingers as she does so. 

“I just know.”

“Of course you do,” Sana sighs. “Well, if you’re taking a break from her, are you joining me in bed today? I don’t mind,” Sana says with a sly grin.

Nayeon frowns at her. “You snore.”

“And you don’t?”

Nayeon pulls a face, snagging her phone off the kitchen counter and administering a well-aimed slap on Sana’s thigh that earns her a yelp, before raising a hand in farewell.

She needs some sleep.

~

Dahyun would rather be thrust into a jail packed with ex-convicts equipped with automatic rifles than face an angry Mina.

She thinks she can see the gates to Hell creaking open behind the woman in black and white, spewing flames and smoke that are meant to sear through her body and singe her soul.

Mina’s not large by any standards, a walking piece of paper if anything, but at this moment, Dahyun couldn’t conjure up an image of anything more terrifying if she tried.

She’s rooted at Mina’s doorstep, unreasonable (though really not unreasonable at all) fear coursing through every vein in her body.

Another tense minute ticks by with Mina’s gaze scorching into hers, Dahyun finding herself trapped in fiery pools of black that she’s sure no one holds the ability to resist.

Then, the older woman is wordlessly stepping back from the doorway, an obviously silent command of  _ get your ass in here,  _ and despite her mask of bravado, she nearly trips over her own two feet, cursing the mandatory three-inch heels her mother religiously supplies her with.

She may be the reluctant heir to the throne of one of Korea’s top entertainment agencies, but that has nothing to do with the natural charisma that Mina exudes that has people bending to her every will like a field of grass.

It’s at these moments that Dahyun can’t help but feel that familiar pang of resentment starting out from the base of her stomach and coiling into her lungs, choking her, restricting her from breathing in the fresh air she needs to think properly, to listen to reason and not childish tantrums, because Dahyun’s had to learn false confidence, has had to painstakingly knit together a mask of charisma that Mina has had from the very beginning, has had to become someone she isn’t, someone she doesn’t want to be—a leader.

That’s all behind them now—at least, that’s what she wants to believe—so she silently fills in shoes several sizes too big in order to hold their family together, or whatever’s left of it.

“Why?”

Dahyun snaps into attention at the single syllable, a word that’s meant to be a question molded into a statement that has her quaking where she stands, but doesn’t allow to manifest in the depths of her steady gaze, trained since young to never betray her emotions when speaking to the enemy.

It hurts her to realize that Mina’s become the enemy.

“Because. The both of you are only going to get hurt in the end if you keep holding this back. She has the right to know.”

“That’s not for you to decide, Dahyun. It’s my relationship, not yours!”

“How do you think she’s going to feel when she realizes that you’re her boss’ daughter? What do you think she’s going to think?”

“Stay out of it, Kim Dahyun.”

Dahyun feels her nails sink into the pliant flesh of her thigh. “I don’t want to see you getting hurt, Unnie! Not again!”

Mina’s expression crumples in the way paper does when crushed in between fingers and palm, deep anger evident in coal-black eyes that almost seem lit in black flames, as hands curl into fists at her sides.

“If you ever cross another boundary, you will never see my face again. Do you understand? Stay. Away. From her.”

The words are squeezed through gritted teeth, her tongue an archer’s bow and every syllable arrows to pierce through Dahyun’s admittedly faltering defense.

She watches Mina silently, searching for something that could betray her heavy mask of anger and defensive stance, but finding nothing that would allude to anything other than a mixture of negative emotions, a swirling void of intense colors that Dahyun can’t read.

Mina has always been intense when the situation called for it, gentle soul or not.

“Fine. I’ll stay out of it. But when you get hurt, Unnie? When you end up hurting her? Don’t come crying to me. I already did the best I could.”

With that, she gracefully turns away from Mina and walks out the door, high heels clacking so loudly against the floor that she thinks they might pierce through the ground.

She just wants Mina to be happy.

She wonders if that’s too much to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, lots of drama in this chapter which I'm sure many of you were expecting haha. You can expect new characters and pairings in the next chapter, so I hope you guys are ready for that. Thank you for the kudos and the comments, I really appreciate them and it helps a ton for motivation. Until next time!


End file.
